I 


{poems 


MEDLEY  AND  PALESTINA 


BY 

j.  w.  DEFOREST 

AUTHOR  OF  THE  DOWNING  LEGENDS,    A  LOVER'S   REVOLT,    PLAYING    THE 

MISCHIEF,    JUSTINE'S   LOVERS,    KATE   BEAUMONT,    OVERLAND, 

THE   WETHERELL   AFFAIR.    HONEST    JOHN    VANE, 

MISS  RAVENEL'S  CONVERSION,  ETC.,  ETC- 


NEW  HAVEN,  CONNECTICUT: 

THE  TUTTLE,  MOREHOUSE  &  TAYLOR  COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS  AND  PRINTERS 

1002 


Copyright,  1902, 

by 
JOHN  W.  DEFOREST. 


CONTENTS 


MEDLEY 

UNDER  THE  COLORS 

The  Battalion, 

The  Combat, 4 

Campaigning,          ...  • 

Forward,         ....••••• 

The   Storming  Column, IJ 

The  Bloody  Grove.         .  .13 

Lost  and  Won.      .  •         *4 

The  Battle  Flag.    .  -         17 

The  Boy  Soldier.  .  .  .         18 

After  the  War .         IQ 

The  Echo  Drummer,     .  .         .         21 

Pickett's  Charge.    *  .23 

Raven  Van  Ross,    ...  .24 

RECOLLECTIONS  AND  REVERIES 

The  Phantom  Ship,        .  -         29 

The  City  of  Souls,          .  -30 

The  Owl, .31 

The  Tableau  Vivant,     ...                   .  33 

Romances, 34 

Hail,  Augusta,        .  36 

The  Archer's  Plea, 37 

The  Skater,    ....                   .  39 

The  Solo, 40 

M534486 


IV  CONTENTS. 

The  Haunted  Lady, 4! 

The  Coming  Goodbye, 4! 

Recollection,            ........  42 

Separation,     ........  43 

Cherished  Illusions, 44 

Sunset  on  Lebanon, 45 

The  Lottery  Valentine, 46 

Underneath, 47 

The  Wizard, 4g 

Despondencies, 49 

En  Voyage, 5O 

New  York  Bay  in  1624, ^ 

The  Oldtime  Village, 53 

TALES  AND  BALLADS 

A  Seaside  Story, 57 

I     The  Mermaiden, 57 

II     The  Seaside  Lake 58 

III  The  Meeting,. 58 

IV  Remembrance, 59 

Tender  and  True, 60 

I     The  Stroll, 60 

II     A  Hope, 61 

III  The  Wedding, 62 

IV  The  Grove, 64 

V    The  Sleep, 65 

VI     The  Dead  March, .67 

The  Same  in  the  Ending, 68 

The  Vestal, .         .  69 

The  Bishop  of  Thule, 70 

The  Lost  Hunter,           .                  .         ...         .         .  72 


CONTEXTS.  V 

The  Goat, 73 

A  Fable  of  Salem,          .......  75 

The  Brave,     ......  .76 

The  Pilgrim,  ... 

The  Demon's  Story, 78 

The  Dark  Comrade,       .......  78 

Calenture, 79 

The  Plaything  Sky, 80 

The  Fastidious  Goblin, 82 

The  Old  Knight  and  the  Damozel,        .         .         .         .84 

The  Vanished  Castle, 87 

Niffer, 88 

The  Oldtime  People 89 

Lochinvar  in  the  South,         ......  89 

Judge  Boodle,        ........  91 

The  Cannibal  Conquest,          ......  96 

PALESTINA 

The  Battle  of  the  Kings  (Genesis,  xiv),       .         .  101 
Joseph,            .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .112 

Delilah, 113 

Gilboa  (I  Samuel,  xxviii,  xxxi,  and  sequel),        .         .  114 

THE  PASTOR 

The  Vision  (Job,  iv,  13-21), 131 

The  Despondent   (Job,  ix,  25-26;   x,  18-22),          .         .  132 

The  Human   (Job,  xiv,  1-14  and  21),    .         .         .         .  133 

The  Redeemer   (Job,  xix,  2-26), 134 

The  Fall  of  the  Evil   (Job,  xxi.  7-18  and  28-30),          .  135 

The  Divine   (Job,  xxv), 136 


VI  CONTENTS. 

THE  BARD 

The  Gracious   (Psalm,  viii), 139 

The  Deliverer   (Psalm,  xiii),          .....  140 

The  Protector   (Psalm,  xx),           .....  141 

The  Avenger   (Psalm,  Ixx),            .....  142 

The  Splendor  of  Jehovah   (Psalm,  xcvii),     .         .         .  142 

The  Unchangeable   (Psalm,  cii), 144 

The  Merciful   (Psalm,  cxlv,  1-18),         .         .         .         .145 

Adoration   (Psalm,  cxviii),    ......  146 

THE  BURDEN  OF  SAMARIA 

Jeroboam   (I  Kings,  xii,  28-33), 151 

Ahijah's  Curse   (I  Kings,  xiv,  passim),         .          .         .  151 

Elijah's  Curse   (I  Kings,  xvi,  30-34,  and  xvii,  i),          .  152 

Carmel    (I  Kings,  xviii,  17-40),      .....  153 

The  Death  of  Ahab  (I  Kings,  xxii,  passim),        .         .  154 

Jezebel  at  the  Window   (II  Kings,  ix,  30-37),       .         .  156 

Hosea's  Curse  (Hosea,  passim),            ....  156 

THE  STORY  OF  JERUSALEM 

The  Messenger   (Isaiah,  vi,  1-8),            ....  161 

The  Message   (Isaiah,  ii,  8-22),    .....  162 

The  Curse   (Isaiah,  Ivii,  1-13), 163 

The  Judgment   (Ezekiel,  vi,  1-7),  .         .         .         .165 

The  Fast  (Isaiah,  Iviii,  3-10), 166 

The  City  of  Destruction   (Isaiah,  passim),    .         .         .  167 

The  Chambers  of  Imagery   (Ezekiel,  viii),    .         .         .  168 

The  Warning   (Joel,  ii,  1-14), 169 

The  Spoiler   (Jeremiah,  vi,  19-26),         .         .          .         .171 

The  Siege   (Jeremiah,  xiv,  18-21),          ....  172 


CONTEXTS.  Vll 

Overthrow   (Jeremiah,  iv,  23-28),  .  .173 

Unsepulchred    (Jeremiah,    viii,    1-3,    and    Isaiah,    ii.    19 

and  21), 174 

The  Sorrowful  City  (Lamentations,  i.  1-5),                    .  i/5 

The  Lament  (Lamentations,  v), i/5 

By  the  Rivers  of  Babylon   (Psalm,  cxxxvii),         .         .  176 
The  Vision  of  the  Glory   (Ezekiel,  i,  3-26),           .         .178 

The  Scroll  of  Retribution    (Ezekiel,   i,  26-28,   and  ii),  180 

The  Burden  of  Tyre   (Ezekiel,  xxvi  and  xxvii),            .  181 

The  Burden  of  Babylon  (Isaiah,  xiii,  passim),     .         .  183 

The  Feast  of  Bel  (Daniel,  v), 184 

Lucifer   (Isaiah,  xiv,  4-20),  ......  192 

Appeal   (Isaiah,  Ixiv), 193 

Hope  in  Sorrow   (Lamentations,  iii),     .         .         .         .195 

The  Promise   (Isaiah,  i,  4-20), 196 

The  Revival   (Ezekiel,  xxxvii,  1-14),    ....  197 

The  Return  (Jeremiah,  xxx,  17-22,  and  xxxi.  8  and  9),  199 

Reestablishment   (Jeremiah,  xxxiii,  7-13),    .         .         .  200 

THE  XEW  GLORY 

The  Man  of  Sorrows   (Isaiah,  liii),       ....  203 

The  Fathers   (Hebrews,  xi,  32-39),        ....  204 

The  Heralds   (Revelation,  viii,  ix  and  x),     .         .         .  205 

The  Golden  City   (Revelation,  xxi),      ....  206 

The  White  Robed   (Revelation,  vii,  9-17).     .         .         .  208 


PREFACE 


UNDER  THE   COLORS. 

Counting  service  in  war  and  in  peace,  I  was  six 
and  a  half  years  under  the  colors.  I  was  in  three 
storming  parties,  six  days  of  field  engagement,  and 
thirty-seven  days  of  siege  duty,  making  forty-six  days 
under  fire. 

My  chief  regret  with  regard  to  this  matter  is  that  I 
could  not  take  part  in  one  of  the  greater  battles,  such 
as  Gettysburg  or  Chickamauga.  I  am  not  only  glad, 
but  I  am  sincerely  thankful  that  I  did  not  miss  Port 
Hudson  and  the  final  victories  in  the  Shenandoah 
Valley.  In  the  finishing  fight  there  I  was  on  the  staff 
of  General  Emory,  carrying  various  orders  for  him 
and  one  for  General  Sheridan. 

In  ''Under  the  Colors"  there  are  souvenirs  of  several' 
of  my  fighting  days.  "The  Combat"  refers  to  the 
engagement  of  Labadieville,  or  Georgia  Landing,  in 
Louisiana.  ''Forward"  was  suggested  by  an  incident 
of  Banks'  first  attempt  to  carry  Port  Hudson.  "The 
Storming  Column"  sketches  the  night  assault  of  June 
iQth,  on  the  same  fortress.  "The  Bloody  Grove"  is 
a  recollection  of  a  sanguinary  struggle  for  a  little 
woodland  during  Sheridan's  battle  of  The  Opequan. 
"Lost  and  Won"  narrates  a  small  part  of  what  I  saw 
in  the  famous  fight  of  Cedar  Creek. 


X  PREFACE. 

RECOLLECTIONS   AND   REVERIES. 

"The  Phantom  Ship"  sketches  the  famous  Palatine 
Light  of  Block  Island,  as  it  appeared  to  myself.  In 
order  to  show  it  as  it  has  appeared  to  other  and  more 
gifted  eyes,  I  copy  here  some  of  the  testimony  which 
I  took  down  from  the  lips  of  an  insular  witness. 

"I  was  a-rakin  seaweed,  'bout  midnight,"  said  Mr.  J. 
Ball,  "  when  I  seed  the  Palatine  a-comin'  straight  for 
the  pynt,  an'  I  couldn't  see  nobody  on  deck,  but  she 
were  bark-rigged.  I  run  up  to  the  lighthouse  to  call 
two  men  as  were  sleepin'  there,  but  before  we  got  to 
the  pynt  she  struck  the  rocks  an'  went  to  pieces." 

"Nuther  time,"  continued  Mr.  Ball,  "some  o'  our 
folks  (I  expec'  they'd  been  drinkin  a  bit)  was  comin' 
from  New  London  by  night  in  a  boat,  when  they  met 
the  Palatine  in  the  chan'l,  an'  she  kep'  a  straight  course, 
an'  they  had  to  sheer  off  for  her." 

Here  Mr.  Ball  closed  his  statement,  not,  I  think, 
because  there  was  no  more  to  tell,  but  because  he  ran 
short  of  language  wherewith  to  tell  it.  I  submit  that 
the  above  narrations  bear  strong  internal  proof  that 
the  man  who  narrated  them  believed  them.  I  believe 
them  also,  with  certain  abatements.  There  is  a  Pala 
tine  Light,  or  at  least  there  was  one  formerly,  and  I 
have  seen  it  as  sure  as  J.  Ball.  For  a  faithful,  cold 
blooded,  scientific  description  of  its  appearance  and 
behavior,  I  refer  the  reader  to  my  verses  entitled  "The 
Phantom  Ship." 

To  me  (not  being  a  seafaring  man)  the  Light  did 
not  look  like  a  vessel,  whether  bark-rigged  or  otherwise. 
It  rather  resembled  a  wheatsheaf,  made  of  silvery 


PREFACE.  XI 

aurora  borealis,  about  half  a  mile  high  and  ten  miles 
away,  drifting  rapidly  seaward  along-  the  wide  channel 
between  Block  Island  and  Newport.  Every  few  min 
utes  it  toppled  forward,  went  completely  under  the 
water-line,  and  then  reappeared  miles  further  east,  with 
a  preliminary  glow  like  that  of  the  moon  rising  from 
a  marine  horizon.  Through  the  broad,  hazy  base 
shone  the  tiny  lanterns  of  fishing-smacks,  and  also  the 
huge,  staring  beacons  (a  red  and  a  green)  of  two  coast 
ing  steamers,  allying  the  extravagant  apparition  to  our 
workaday  world  and  helping  the  human  spectator 
to  believe  himself  awake  and  in  his  sober  wits. 

I  watched  the  Light  for  thirty  minutes  or  more,  in 
company  with  a  dozen  other  seasiders,  all  fascinated 
and  puzzled.  At  that  time  Whittiers  fine  poem  about 
it  was  to  me  completely  unknown.  I  had  heard  of  the 
Palatine,  however,  and  promptly  divined  her  in  the 
sight  before  me.  My  own  verses  were  written  the  next 
day  at  Block  Island,  and  appeared  not  long  afterward 
in  "Harper's  Monthly." 


PALESTINA. 

I  have  not  attempted  to  settle  the  chronology  of  the 
Hebrew  writings  known  as  The  Prophets.  Xor  have 
I  attempted  to  distinguish,  in  their  matter,  between 
what  is  history,  what  is  denunciation  or  imprecation, 
and  what  is  prophesy.  I  have  written  as  a  poet,  or  as 
a  minor  minstrel,  whichever  I  may  be. 

As  to  measure,  or  stanza,  I  have  had  no  theory  or 
preestablished  purpose,  but  have  simply  accepted  what- 


xii  PREFACE. 

ever  might  be  suggested  to  my  ear  by  some  guiding 
phrase  of  the  original,  meaning  thereby  the  English 
version.  If  my  admiration  for  this  original  does  not 
appear  in  my  fragmentary  renderings  of  it,  then  I  have 
failed  to  express  myself  distinctly. 

With  regard  to  the  battle  on  Mt.  Gilboa,  it  will  be 
noted  that  I  have  supposed  it  to  be  something  like  the 
Homeric  battles.  It  seems  fairly  certain  that  "the 
lords  of  the  Philistines"  were  an  invading  race  from 
Crete,  consisting  partly  of  "well-greaved  Achaeans," 
such  as  fought  against  Troy  under  Agamemnon,  not 
far  from  the  period  of  the  glorious  death  of  Saul. 

Another  superb  ending  of  an  Israelitish  chieftain  is 
the  death  scene  of  Ahab,  concealing  his  mortal  wound 
for  fear  of  discouraging  his  army,  and  having  himself 
held  up  till  evening  in  his  blood-stained  chariot. 


UNDER  THE   COLORS 


MEDLEY   AND    PALESTINA 

MEDLEY 

UNDER  THE  COLORS. 

THE  BATTALION. 

A  thousand  strong  we  marched  to  battle ; 

The  city  roared  around  the  host ; 
The  tambours  blared  their  vaunting  rattle ; 

The  bugles  yelled  their  joyous  boast. 

No  thought  had  we  to  die  asunder, 
Companions  sworn,  a  brother  throng; 

We  looked  to  sweep  through  battle's  thunder 
In  mighty  lines,  a  thousand  strong. 

But  ah,  the  fever's  poisoned  arrow  ! 

The  jungle's  breath!   the  summer's  glow! 
Our  broad  array  grew  swiftly  narrow, 

And  scanty  hundreds  met  the  foe. 

O  fervid  longings,  thoughts  and  fancies 

That  tread  the  city  of  the  soul, 
How  few  of  all  your  spirit-lances 

Arrive  where  glory's  trumpets  roll ! 


MEDLEY. 

THE  COMBAT. 

Without  a  ripple  stretched  the  plain ; 

For  months  we  had  not  seen  a  hill ; 

The  endless,  hot  savannah  still 
Fatigued  the  eye  with  waving  cane. 

A  jungly  forest  lay  before, 

(The  ambush  of  the  wary  foe)  ; 
In  front,  a  stagnant  sluice  with  low, 

Reed-bordered,  spongy,  inky  shore; 

Along  the  right  a  mildewed  swamp 
Where  alligators  slept  or  crawled, 
And  pallid  cypress-titans  sprawled, 

And  mosses  drooped  their  funeral  pomp ; 

While  leftward  crept  a  dull  lagoon, 
As  black  as  Charon's  woful  tide, 
With  plains  beyond  it  blistering  wide 

Beneath  the  white-hot  gleam  of  noon. 

Gray,  fitful  spits  of  musketry 

Announced  our  skirmishers  at  \vork ; 
We  saw  their  darkling  figures  lurk 

In  thickets,  firing  from  the  knee. 

Our  cannon  searched  the  distant  wood 
With  humming,  shrieking,  cracking  shell, 
When  suddenly  the  mouth  of  hell 

Reclaimed  its  polyphemic  food. 


UNDER    THE    COLORS. 

Menacing  ghosts  of  whirling  smoke 
Arose  a  hundred  yards  ahead, 
And  deadly  storms  of  hissing  lead 

From  rifle-pit  and  canefield  broke. 

Then,  while  the  bullets  whistled  shrill 

And  hidden  batteries  boomed  and  growled, 
"Make  ready !  Aim  !"  the  colonel  howled ; 

"Battalion,  forward  !  Fire  at  will !" 

Right  on  against  the  foeman's  wold, 
With  eager,  gladsome,  deafening  fire 
And  whoops  that  keened  each  moment  higher, 

The  dark-blue,  living  billow  rolled. 

The  color-guard  was  at  my  side  ; 

I  heard  the  giant  sergeant  groan ; 

I  heard  the  bullet  crush  the  bone ; 
I  might  have  touched  him  as  he  died. 

I  had  no  malice  in  my  mind ; 

I  only  cried,  "Close  up !  Guide  right !" 
My  single  purpose  through  the  fight 

Was  quick  advance  with  ranks  aligned. 

The  foemen  rose,  then  turned  and  fled ; 

A  loosened,  grey-clad  multitude 

Receded,  vanished  'mid  the  wood, 
And  left  us  smiling  o'er  the  dead. 

Again  the  march,  the  endless  plain, 

The  father-river  hedged  in  dykes ; 

Gray  cypresses,  palmetto  spikes, 
Bayou  and  swamp  and  yellowing  cane ; 


MEDLEY. 

With  rare  plantations,  richly  spelled 
In  blooms,  bananas,  orange  groves, 
Where  laugh  the  sauntering  negro  droves, 

Reposing  from  the  task  of  eld ; 

And,  rarer,  half-deserted  towns, 
Devoid  of  men,  where  women  spit 
Their  helpless  hate,  and  sidling  flit 

With  writhing  scowl  and  flouting  gowns ; 

But  everywhere,  'mid  toils  and  scorns, 

A  noble  sense  of  honor  won, 

A  nobler  sense  of  duty  done, 
A  crown  achieved,  though  sharp  with  thorns. 

CAMPAIGNING. 


The  war  was  weary  long. 

How  long  and  wearisome  it  was, 
That  strife  'twixt  valiant  right  and  valiant  wrong, 

'Twixt  anarchy  and  crystallizing  laws ! 
How  weary,  weary  were  the  marches 
In  lands  where  noontide  parches 

The  pulsing  torrents  of  the  veins ! 

How  many  steaming  plains, 
Now  ashy  waste, 

Now  thick  with  honeyed  canes, 
Our  footfalls  slowly  paced 

From  glaring  rim  to  rim, 
While  fever's  vipers  strayed 


UNDER   THE    COLORS.  7 

Through  aching  head  and  limb, 
And  gnawing  hunger  preyed 

Till  e'en  that  garish  land  grew  dim ! 
The  poison-sucking  moons 
Hung  over  black  lagoons 

And  poured  their  venom  through  the  hazy  night; 

The  dawns  were  damp  with  blight, 
And  all  the  golden-quivered  noons 

Shot  arrows  glowing  white 
That  struck  full  many  down  in  mortal  swoons. 

ii 

Yea,  long  and  fearful  was  the  strife. 

How  many  mighty  champions, 
How  many  evil  Titans,  bounded 

From  caves  of  Chaos  and  Affright 
To  spend  their  savage  life 

In  wrestling  with  the  shining  ones 

Who  guard  the  fortress  of  the  right ! 
How  many  cruel  clarions  sounded 

More  hortative  and  loud 

Than  Roland's  trumpet  when  he  bowed 
To  death  in  Roncesvale ! 
I  heard  all  notes  that  wail 
Through  battle's  vibrant  scale. 

I  heard  the  dying  when  they  sighed 
Like  wearied  children  pitiful  and  meek ; 

I  heard  the  wounded  when  they  cried 
Their  wild,  astonished  shriek, 

The  cry  of  one  who  feels  his  pulses  fail 
And  all  his  strength  turn  weak 


MEDLEY. 

Because  beneath  him  seems  to  slide 
And  open  swiftly  wide 
A  black  and  bottomless  abyss. 

in 

I  heard  the  bullet's  hiss, 

Incessant,  sharp  and  fell, 
The  keenest,  deadliest  note 
That  bursts  from  battle's  throat; 

The  piercing  screech  and  jarring  whirr 

Of  grape  and  canister ; 
And  flying  from  afar,  the  shell 
With  changeful,  throbbing,  husky  yell, 

A  demon  tiger,  leaping  miles 
To  spread  his  iron  claws 

And  tear  the  bleeding  files ; 
While  oft  arose  the  charging  cry 

Of  men  who  battled  for  a  glorious  cause 
And  died  when  it  was  beautiful  to  die. 

IV 

In  long  pursuits, 

When  every  blistered  footstep  seemed  to  bleed, 
When  reeling  ranks  outwore  the  very  brutes 

And  every  furlong  showed  its  dying  steed, 
How  strange,  with  aching  eyes  to  scan 

The  flying  dust  of  cavalry, 
(The  horsemen  of  our  van) 
That  up  and  down  the  roadways  ran 

Untiringly  as  billows  of  the  sea, 
Retreating  and  attacking,  coming,  going, 


UNDER    THE    COLORS. 

As  wayward  as  a  firefly's  glowing, 

While  here  and  there 

A  sabre's  glare 

Revealed  that  Death  was  busy  there. 
Strange,  too,  again, 
Athwart  some  scintillating  plain, 

To  see  advance  through  tremulous  rays 

The  solemn,  columned  haze 
Of  mighty  marchings,  visible  afar. 
The  dim  afreets  of  war, 

The  gliding  pillar-clouds  of  Death's  simoom, 

The  tempest-demons,'  charged  with  doom, 
That  over  war's  Sahara  swarm. 

Menacing,  monstrous,  climbing  skies 
And  hasting  to  descend  in  storm 

Of  crashing  ranks  and  booming  batteries. 


v 

In  middle  night, 

In  dewy  silence,  ocean-deep, 
The  hundred-pounder  on  the  bastioned  height 

Awakened  from  its  ponderous  sleep 
And  poured  with  all  its  iron  might 

A  lion-like,  a  grandly  solemn  roar 
That  boomed  and  shuddered  on 
From  horizon  to  horizon 

Until  the  lofty  frame 

Of  darkness  shook  from  roof  to  floor. 
Then  rose  the  bomb  a-sky. 

A  lurid,  crimson,  bloody  fiend  of  flame 
That  mounted  swiftly  while  that  awful  cry 


10  MEDLEY. 

Along  the  rocking  welkin  fled. 
It  clomb,  it  soared,  it  curved  its  flight, 

It  paused  one  fearful  moment  overhead, 
A  meteor  as  red  as  hell ; 
Then  burst  in  ruins  deadly  white, 
In  g'hastly  shatterings  of  livid  light, 

Magnificent,  sublime  and  fell ; 

While,  clanging  like  a  Pandemonic  bell, 
The  great  explosion  shuddered  on 
From  horizon  to  horizon ; 

And  once  again  the  monstrous  dome  of  night 
Reeled  outward  from  the  roar 
And  shook  from  awful  peak  to  boundless  floor. 

VI 

Yea,  fearful  were  the  sights  and  sounds 
That  swept  the  war's  wide  bounds. 

It  seemed  at  times  as  though  we  trod 
Another  and  most  fearful  world, 

Unknown  perchance  to  God, 
Or  else  long  since  to  ruin  hurled. 

Yet  never  did  our  spirit  shrink ; 
We  marched  and  fought  with  steady  heart ; 

We  marched  to  Hades'  brink 
Without  a  coward  start. 

Our  cause  was  good, 

Befitting  manhood's  noblest  mood ; 
And  it  was  noble,  too,  to  brave 
The  great  unknown  beyond  the  grave. 

All  this  was  godlike,  worthy  all 
That  we  had  power  to  give, 


UNDER    THE    COLORS.  I  I 

Though  in  the  giving  we  should  fall 
Sore  wounded ;  yea,  should  cease  to  live. 

FORWARD. 

A  soldier  laid  him  down  to  die : 

His  wound  was  deep,  his  life  a-failing : 

He  called  a  comrade  charging  by : 
The  shells  were  flying,  balls  a-hailing. 

"O  brother,  take  this  purse  of  gold :" 

The  steeds  were  rushing,  cannon  leaping : 

"And  bear  it  to  my  mother  old:" 

His  voice  was  shaken  here  with  weeping. 

"O  brother,"  said  the  comrade  then : 

The  turf  was  red  with  blood  a-streaming: 

"Your  errand  fits  but  wounded  men  : 
The  bayonets  came  on  a-gleaming. 

"I  came  to  fight,  and  not  to  fly : 

I  shall  not  live  to  see  your  mother : 
So  pray  that  I  may  bravely  die, 

And  trust  your  treasure  to  another." 

THE   STORMING   COLUMN. 

Do  you  remember  the  storming  column 
That  Banks  sent  up  one  night  of  June  ? 

Do  you  recall  the  grandly  solemn 
Advance  withouten  star  or  moon  ? 

The  tangled  wood  and  the  boding  cry 

Of  owls  that  jeered  us  on  to  die? 


1 2  MEDLEY. 

Afar  in  stifling  night  we  heard 

The  picket  rattle  rise  and  fall ; 
Now  and  then  the  leaves  were  stirred 

Above  our  heads  by  a  random  ball ; 
There  were  no  clamored  orders  then, 
The  orders  came  from  whispering  men. 

Our  road  by  dark  battalions  ran, 

By  sections  harnessed,  man  and  steed ; 

We  heard  them  croak,  "There  goes  the  van" ; 
And  then  we  knew  that  wre  should  lead 

The  battle;  but  our  hearts  would  roam, 

And  many  thought,  "Adieu  to  home." 

The  colonel  groped  before  the  files 
Of  bayonets  bare  and  sabres  drawn ; 

We  roamed  and  stumbled  dusky  miles, 
And  night  had  paled  to  filmy  dawn 

When  yellow  earthworks  loomed  ahead 

And  howling  battle  called  our  dead. 

Then  officer  and  soldier  yelled, 

And  wildly  charged  the  old  brigade ; 

The  hoarse  hurrahs  one  moment  quelled 
The  rifle  crash  and  cannonade ; 

I  think  the  very  caves  of  death 

Reechoed  that  heroic  breath. 

For  the  dying  shouted  as  they  died, 
Cheering  their  panting  comrades  on ; 

And  though  the  clanging  bronze  replied, 
They  heard  it  not,  for  they  were  gone ; 


UNDER    THE    COLORS. 

And  thus  I  think  their  final  call 
Entered  the  gates  of  Odin's  hall. 

We  reached  the  trench ;  our  foremost  dead 
Dotted  the  smoking  mounds  with  blue ; 

The  bastions  flushed  with  clotting  red, 
And  still  the  hissing  bullets  flew ; 

They  hailed  along  the  gullied  banks 

And  thinned  the  wearied,  broken  ranks. 

In  vain  supporting  cannon  roared, 
In  vain  renewed  battalions  pressed ; 

The  Southern  flag  triumphant  soared, 
We  could  not  smoor  the  flaming  crest ; 

We  could  not  conquer — could  but  die. 

Yet  all  the  war  was  a  victory. 

THE  BLOODY  GROVE. 

The  wood  was  strewn  with  gray  and  blue, 
The  smoke  was  coiled  and  looping, 

When  onward  came  the  foe  anew 
With  shrieking  and  with  whooping. 

The  cannon  tore  the  leafy  aisles, 

The  beeches  flew  asunder 
And  tottered  through  the  scanty  files 

In  plunging,  crackling  thunder. 

We  knelt  beside  the  fallen  trees, 

Beside  our  fallen  brothers, — 
We  thought  of  others  on  their  knees, 

Of  darlings  and  of  mothers. 


14  MEDLEY. 

We  glanced  aloft  and  bade  farewell 
To  earth,  its  joy  and  beauty; 

Then  made  our  every  bullet  tell 
For  honor  and  for  duty. 

The  wood  was  strewn  with  dying  men, 
The  turf  was  red  and  reeking, 

When  onward  came  the  foe  agen 
With  whooping  and  with  shrieking. 


LOST  AND  WON. 

i 

The  battle  sprang  through  dingy  dawn, 
A  stealthy  battle  shod  with  lawn. 
It  scared  the  morning  with  its  leap, 
A  tiger  battle  slaying  sleep. 
One  aster  pierced  the  reddening  east 
And  lit  the  monster  to  his  feast. 
From  lofty  heights  that  faced  our  camp 
He  crept  on  paws  of  velvet  wiles 
Down  torrent  gulches  green  and  damp, 
Up  wooded  slopes  and  gray  defiles, 
Till,  stealing  round  our  leftward  wing, 
He  crouched  and  made  his  fearful  spring. 

ii 

My  foot  was  on  the  stirrup  plate, 
My  hand  was  on  the  saddle  bow ; 
I  leaped  astride  and  spurred  agate 
Through  tangled  paths  to  spy  the  foe. 


UNDER    THE    COLORS.  15 


But  vainly  might  I  lean  and  gaze ; 
The  lanskip  showed  no  living  shape. 
I  saw  but  woodlands  draped  in  haze ; 
One  foreland  groping  like  a  cape 
Through  pallid  gulfs ;  beyond,  a  pall 
Of  tiding  mists ;  and  that  was  all. 
But  still  afar  I  heard  the  yell 
Of  men  who  conquered,  men  who  fell. 


in 

Then  presently  a  phantom  grove 
Disparted  wide  its  filmy  aisles ; 
And  through  them,  half  discovered,  drove 
A  drifting  swarm  of  broken  files. 
Accoutred  as  they  sprang  from  sleep ; 
Half  vestured ;  herding  close,  like  sheep 
In  terror ;  glancing  back  amazed. 
And  croaking  low,  as  creatures  dazed 
By  some  incredible  mischance, 
A  thrust  of  magic's  fated  lance. 
In  vain  were  rally  calls.     They  stared 
Unanswering,  and  ever  fared 
To  rearward,  stolidly  as  hosts 
Of  brutes,  and  helplessly  as  ghosts. 
So  disappeared  our  shattered  van, 
And  so  the  daylong  fight  began, 
While  downward  drave  that  lurid  star 
(Red  Thor  menacing  from  his  car), 
And  slowly  clomb  in  rosy  lawn 
The  unavailing  peace  of  dawn. 


1 6  MEDLEY. 

IV 

Now  silence  fell — a  moment's  grace — 
An  anxious,  fearful  breathing  space — 
Like  that  between  two  evil  dreams, 
Two  combing  waves,  two  levin  gleams, — 
The  while  we  swiftly  altered  form, 
Battalions  wheeling,  swarm  by  swarm, 
The  ranks  a-shake  and  intertwined, 
The  very  chieftains  groping  blind 
To  meet  the  coming  of  a  foe 
Whose  striking-place  we  could  not  know,- 
A  panther-footed  foe  whose  claws 
Crept  daintily  through  morning's  gauze. 


Then  battle's  second  billow  broke, 
With  tongues  of  fire  and  spouting  smoke, 
With  whirring  grape  and  howling  shell, 
With  yelping,  piercing  yell  on  yell. 
The  cannon-vapor  folded  high, 
The  spiteful  bullet  speeded  by, 
While  back  we  drifted,  ever  back, 
A  bleeding,  rifted,  reeling  wrack, 
The  field  with  mangled  men  bestrown, 
With  fallen  steeds,  guns  overthrown, 
And  foul  with  sprinklings,  trails  and  pools 
Of  blood,  as  'twere  a  land  of  ghouls. 


UNDER    THE    COLORS. 
VI 

Till  noon  the  hurrying  foe  prevailed, 
Nor  any  stroke  of  ours  availed. 
But  then !  O  what  a  change  there  was ! 
He  came !  the  Roland  of  our  cause ! 
He  came !  we  needed  but  his  glance 
To  halt,  to  rally,  and  advance, 
To  strike  as  'twere  a  dying  blow, 
And  see  the  day  all  laureled  go. 

O  monstrous  joy,  akin  to  madness ! 
O  cruel  joy,  the  victor's  gladness ! 
His  dearest  comrade  falls  anear : 
He  rushes  on  without  a  tear. 
He  leaps  along  the  roaring  field 
And  laughs  to  see  the  foemen  yield. 
He  faces  death's  demoniac  jaws 
And  rends  the  air  with  gay  hurrahs. 
No  other  joy  that  earth  may  give, 
No  other  moment  man  may  live, 
Outshines  the  radiant  moment  whiles 
Red  victory  crowns  the  weary  files. 

THE  BATTLE  FLAG. 

I  beckon  onward  charging  men, 
I  head  the  bleeding  rally, 

I  flaunt  along  the  rattling  glen, 
Along  the  booming  valley. 

I  waver  through  the  bloody  sedge 
That  rims  the  black  morasses ; 


1 8  MEDLEY. 

I  climb  the  mountain's  smoky  ledge 
And  rive  the  columned  masses. 

I  span  the  river's  icy  flight, 
I  flout  the  squadroned  horses, 

I  scale  the  rampart's  steely  height 
And  throb  above  the  corses. 

A  dozen  men  have  borne  my  staff, 
And,  clutching  it,  have  perished ; 

But  still  along  the  war  I  laugh, 
And  still  my  rags  are  cherished. 

I  lead  my  children  through  the  flame, 
All  marching  in  their  places ; 

I  cheer  my  darlings  on  to  fame 
And  kiss  their  dying  faces. 

I  muster  scarce  a  hundred  braves 
Beneath  my  crimsoned  glory. 

O  heroes,  forward  to  your  graves, 
And  plant  my  pike  in  story! 


THE  BOY   SOLDIER. 

O  my  sunny 
Boy,  my  beauty, 

Mad  to  strike  a  blow ! 
Not  for  money, 

Not  for  duty 

Would  I  let  thee  go. 


UNDER    THE    COLORS.  1 9 

Spare  the  mother, 

Growing  hoary, 
Not  for  long  below ; 

Let  another 
Win  the  glory. 

Rushing  on  the  foe. 

Ah,  the  ruddy 

Soldier  laddie, 
Waking  all  aglow ! 

What  a  bloody 
Slumber  had  he 

Ere  the  sun  was  low ! 

Half  a  city, 

Treading  slowly, 
Joined  the  funeral  show. 

Grant  me  pity, 
Holy,  holy 

Comforter  of  woe! 


AFTER  THE  WAR. 

How  few  remember  now  the  days, 
The  peddling  days,  before  the  war, 

When  life  was  like  a  one-horse  chaise 
And  "thirty  cents"  a  morning  star, 

When  Bunker  Hill  "descended  down''* 

If  cotton  planters  deigned  to  frown ! 

*TrumbuH's  McFingal. 


2O  MEDLEY. 

We  washed  them  clean,  those  scrolls  of  shame, 
In  seas  of  blood.     We  crossed  them  off 

With  powder  stain  and  scorch  of  flame. 
The  kings  no  longer  grin  and  scoff 

At  Freedom  throned  on  hosts  of  slaves. 

We  balanced  that  with  hosts  of  graves. 

0  comrades,  render  thanks  to  God 
For  Bull  Run's  day  of  panic  terrors. 

That  overthrow  was  Yahveh's  rod 

To  scourge  afar  the  groveling  errors 
That  trade  is  manhood's  loftiest  pride, 
And  man's  most  precious  part,  his  hide. 

Our  fight  was  nobler  for  disaster, 
No  easy  stroke  were  half  so  grand. 

The  nation's  genius  rose  the  vaster 
Because  of  trial.     Our  spacious  land 

Gave  narrow  scope  for  such  events 

As  trode  its  vast  circumference. 

Glorious  braves  those  rebels  were, 

As  gallant  ranks  as  ever  dashed 
Up  smoking  steeps  with  bayonets  bare, 

While  volleys  whizzed  and  cannon  crashed 
Athwart  the  swarms  of  grey-clad  men, — 
The  memory  makes  me  drop  the  pen. 

1  think  it  might  be  fine  to  hear 

Their  whoop  again, — their  panther  yell : 
No  trained  hurrah,  no  classic  cheer ; 
But  savage  yelps  of  wold  and  fell ; 


UNDER    THE    COLORS.  21 

A  cry  of  wolves  in  hunting  bout ; 
And  yet  a  stirring,  martial  shout. 

At  Gettysburg  how  swift  they  came, 

Right-shoulder-shift,  quick-step,  guide  right, 

Defying  all  our  roar  and  flame 

With  yell  on  yell  as  they  clomb  the  height, 

The  righting  blood  of  a  hero  race 

Ablaze  in  every  swarthy  face ! 

The  future  of  a  country  reeled 

When  Longstreet  crowned  the  deadly  hill ; 
One  more  brigade  had  gained  the  field, 

Perchance  for  centuries  of  ill ; 
And  never  yet  were  statues  run 
For  worthier  men  than  those  who  won. 


THE  ECHO  DRUMMER. 

The  mellow  drum  of  the  echoes 
Is  beating  beneath  the  crag, 

And  doubtless  the  elfin  warriors 
Are  gathered  round  their  flag. 

I  fancy  I  see  them  rally, 
I  fancy  I  see  them  form : — 

Hurrah!  'tis  the  oldtime  banner; 
Once  more,  battalion,  we  storm. 

Smoke  eddies  from  ledge  and  thicket 
Where  skirmishers  crawl  and  kneel ; 

From  forest  and  winding  valley, 
Where  flanking  regiments  wheel. 


22  MEDLEY. 

Along  the  base  of  the  mountain 
It  streams  like  a  line  of  spray ; 

Above,  the  battery-tempest 

Drives  billows  of  curling  gray. 

I  hear  the  yell  of  the  colonel, 
The  captain's  hurrying  call, 

The  tramp  of  the  panting  soldiers, 
The  ramrod's  hammering  fall ; 

The  clang  of  the  brass  howitzer, 
The  iron  gun's  muffled  growl, 

The  thrum  of  the  whirling  splinter, 
The  grapeshot's  tigerish  howl; 

The  stunning  crash  of  the  volleys, 
The  longdrawn  fire  of  the  files, 

The  bullet's  incessant  whistle — 
Exultings  of  death  for  miles. 

And  louder  than  all,  and  grimmer, 
The  jubilant  charging  yell, 

The  scream  of  the  old  battalion 
As  it  storms  through  battle's  hell. 

Again  the  grasses  are  reddened 

With  earth's  most  precious  of  dies ; 

The  blood  of  heroes  is  flowing — 
And  tears  are  blinding  my  eyes. 

I  waken  to  hear  but  only 

The  summer's  warble  and  hum, 

And,  stamping  in  mimic  warfare, 
An  infant  beating  a  drum. 


UNDER  THE  COLORS.  23 

PICKETT'S    CHARGE. 

The  war  had  robbed  the  cradle, 

The  war  had  robbed  the  grave, 
And  boys  with  ringlets  golden 

Bore  bayonet  and  glaive, 
And  grandsires  flung  their  olden 

Thin  hair  to  battle's  wave 
When  Pickett  charged  the  folden 

Pale  mists  where  slaughters  rave. 

He  trode  the  smitten  valley, 

The  headland's  hissing  glade, 
Right  through  the  bullet  tempest. 

Right  through  the  cannonade, 
Till  rank  tore  rank  asunder 

With  bayonet  and  blade, 
Till  earth  arose  in  wonder 

To  see  the  death  he  made. 

Six  thousand  were  his  heroes, 

Three  thousand  those  who  bled ; 
They  marched  without  a  shiver 

To  join  the  knightly  dead; 
They  crossed  the  ghostly  river 

With  swift  and  steady  tread ; 
And  fame  will  shine  forever 

Around  that  column's  head. 

The  war  had  robbed  the  cradle, 

The  war  had  robbed  the  tomb, 
And  men  whose  hair  was  hoary 

And  youngsters   in  their  bloom 


24  MEDLEY. 

Went  shouting  through  the  glory 
That  folds  where  cannon  boom, 

When  Pickett  stormed  the  gory 
Sublimities  of  doom. 


RAVEN  VAN  Ross. 

They  say  that  the  Vandals  will  come. 

I  would  not  believe  it  till  now ; 
But  this  horrible  throbbing  and  hum 

Is  the  tramp  of  their  march  drawing  near 
And  the  roll  of  their  barbarous  drum. 

So  let  me  remember  my  vow, 
And  hasten  forth,  robed  for  my  bier, 
To  strike  at  the  joy  of  their  cheer, 

To  strike  and  leave  some  one  dumb. 

My  lineage  is  gentle  and  old, 

And  my  heart  is  virginal  pure ; 
My  hair  is  a  girl's  flossy  gold 

And  my  hand  is  of  satiny  gloss; 
But  no  heart  can  more  proudly  endure 

The  anguish  of  honor's  red  cross ; 
No  hand  with  the  pistol  is  truer, 
And  I'll  shoot  the  first  Yankee  as  sure 

As  my  name  is  Raven  Van  Ross. 

She  speeded  forth  into  the  night 
And  spied  the  dark  column  anigh ; 

She  stood  there  in  delicate  white, 
A  maiden  too  lovely  to  die ; 


UNDER    THE    COLORS.  25 

Too  precious  for  aught  but  the  sight 
Of  love,  and  the  kiss  of  his  mouth, 

And  the  clasp  of  his  yearning  delight; 

But  maddened  by  echoes  of  fight 

And  the  passionate  blood  of  the  South. 

She  shot.     But  no  death-cry  replied. 

The  column  sent  backward  no  ball. 
It  trampled  on,  massive  and  wide, 

From  curbstone  to  curbstone  across, 
Dumb,  solemn  and  black  as  a  pall ; 

Unknowing  that  close  by  its  side, 
Withdrawn  from  life's  hyssop  and  gall, 
Heart-broken,  death- stricken,  lay  all 

That  remained  of  Raven  Van  Ross.* 

*An  incident  (somewhat  disguised)  of  Sherman's  entry  into 
Columbia,  South  Carolina. 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND 
REVERIES 


RECOLLECTIONS   AND   REVERIES. 

THE   PHANTOM   SHIP. 

We  stood  on  the  haunted  island, 
We  stood  by  the  haunted  bay; 

The  stars  were  all  over  the  skyland, 
But  the  moon  had  loitered  away. 

The  lights  of  fisher-boats  glimmered, 
The  beacon  was  steady  and  red, 

The  harbor  icily  shimmered 

Like  the  bodeful  eye  of  the  dead. 

Then  came  the  terror  of  ocean, 

The  fiend  of  the  island  came, 
A  vessel  with  ghostlike  motion, 

A  bark  with  canvass  of  flame. 

It  shone  with  vaporous  brightness, 
A  glamour  of  tremulous  rays ; 

It  was  not  fire,  but  the  whiteness 
Of  a  ghost  of  a  perished  blaze. 

We  watched  it  with  wondering  vision, 
We  watched  it  doubting  and  dumb; 

We  had  heard  of  the  thing  with  derision, 
But  we  surely  beheld  it  come. 

We  saw  it  glide  o'er  the  water, 
A  phantom  of  pallid  fire ; 


3O  MEDLEY. 

We  saw  it  tumble  and  totter 
To  ruin,  and  then  flash  higher. 

Again  and  again  to  leeward, 
Its  ghastly  rigging  fell  o'er; 

At  last,  far  away  to  seaward, 
It  foundered  and  rose  no  more. 

We  had  watched  it  with  straining  vision, 
We  had  watched  it  with  eye  and  glass; 

But  gone  were  doubt  and  derision, 
For  surely  we  saw  it  pass. 

Through  many  a  winter  and  summer, 
As  the  sons  of  the  island  know, 

The  gleam  of  this  vampyre  comer 
Has  prophesied  storm'and  woe  : 

This  ghost  of  a  great  three-master 
That  went  in  the  days  of  yore 

To  fell  and  fiery  disaster 

Right  off  the  Block  Island  shore. 

THE   CITY   OF   SOULS. 

I  traverse  the  humdrum  station, 
I  enter  the  well-known  street ; 

But  a  bedlamite  incantation 
Transfigures  the  crowds  I  meet. 

Their  bodily  shapes  have  vanished 
To  pallid  planets  of  gholes ; 

And  the  city  of  earth,  astonished, 
Beholds  a  people  of  souls. 


RECOLLECTIONS    AND    REVERIES.  3! 

Xor  neighbor  I  see,  nor  brother, 

Nor  lover  nor  foe  I  ken : 
And  they  know  not  one  the  other, 

These  phantom  women  and  men. 

For  many  once  quaint  and  homely 

Outglitter  the  saints  themselves, 
And  many  once  tall  and  comely 

Are  dwarfish  and  weird  as  elves. 

And  many  who  chided  revel 

Discover  the  lurking  beast ; 
And  the  leer  of  the  doubting  devil 

Supplants  the  smile  of  the  priest. 

The  worshipped  and  trusted  maiden, 
The  friend  of  my  bosom,  come; 

But  the  darling  would  ruin  Aidenn, 
The  friend  is  a  scowling  gnome. 

I  scout  them  in  fierce  derision, 

Responses  of  fiends  blaspheme; 
Then  in  anger  I  rend  the  vision 

And  trust  in  men  as  thev  seem. 


THE   OWL. 

All  day  he  sits  in  his  vitreous  dome 
On  the  mantel  stand  of  the  hotel  hall, 

And  stares  at  naught  like  a  scornful  gnome, 
Regardless  of  me,  and  thee,  and  all, 

Though  many  pass  him  with  gleesome  feet, 

And  many  whose  hearts  in  agony  beat. 


32  MEDLEY. 

Summoning  bells  on  the  under  floor, 
Hurrying  steps  on  the  creaking  stair, 

Sobbing  farewells  and  a  mellow  roar 
Of  music  and  mirth  in  the  evening  air, 

Burial  trains  from  the  floors  above, 

Shouts  of  anger  and  whispers  of  love, 

Succeed  and  reply  like  the  fateful  mell 

Of  comings  and  goings  and  joys  and  woes 

That  rave  through  Life's  titanic  hotel 
To  the  far  Beyond  no  traveler  knows, 

Arriving  unknown — departed,  forgot ; — 
.    One  leaving  a  name — another,  a  blot. 

Yet  nothing  seemeth  the  owl  to  care, 
A  demon  cruelly  deaf  and  blind 

To  every  passionate  hope  and  despair 
And  gladness  and  grief  of  humankind, 

Who  never  changes  his  stony  gaze 

While  daylight  glows  or  the  gasbeaks  blaze. 

A  whitefaced  clock  in  a  varnished  case, 
(A  corpse  a-stare  through  a  coffin  slide) 

Tolls  the  knell  of  the  minutes  that  chase 
Each  other  to  death  over  eventide. 

One!  two!  three!  cries  the  sexton  clock, 

And  the  owl  awakes  at  the  magian  shock. 

He  flutters  down  from  his  mossy  bough; 

His  eyes  are  awful  with  weird  surmise ; 
He  cleaves  the  crystal,  I  know  not  how, 

And  rambles  forth  on  a  strange  emprise, 


RECOLLECTIONS    AXU    REVERIES.  33 

Silently  treading  the  carpeted  floors 
Where  sentinel  boots  guard  bedroom  doors. 

From  every  keyhole  a  wraith  appears 
And  tells  the  soul  of  the  sleeper  within, 

His  secretest  longings  and  plots  and  fears. 
His  holiest  worth  and  foulest  sin. 

The  grim  fowl  harkens  with  eyes  of  flame. 

No  marvel !     Who  would  not  harken  the  same  ? 

At  morn  he  returns,  a  bewildered  bird, 

And  sits  all  day  in  staring  amaze, 
Thinking  unwinking  of  what  he  has  heard 

Of  the  spirit  world  and  its  hidden  ways, 
Musing  entranced  till  the  western  sun 
Leaves  him  more  puzzled  than  when  he  begun. 

O,  the  human  heart!     O,  the  human  soul! 

Enigma  of  being !  conundrum  of  time ! 
Go  guess  me  my  riddle !     The  centuries  toll 

Over  guesser  and  guess  their  contemptuous  chime. 
I  weary  of  bowing  to  college  and  cowl. 
The  oracles  lie.     I  shall  wait  for  the  owl. 


THE  TABLEAU  VIVAXT. 

She  came  in  the  diademed  guise 
Of  Egypt's  bewildering  queen ; 

Apparel  of  aureate  dyes 

Lent  orient  pomp  to  her  mien ; 

The  stars  in  the  heavens  of  her  eyes 
Cast  magian  glamor  and  sheen. 


34  MEDLEY. 

The  smile  of  astonishment  told 

How  plainly  our  homage  was  shown; 

The  Phidian  face  glimmered  cold, 
The  face  of  a  goddess  in  stone ; 

More  regal  with  beauty  than  gold, 
She  needed  no  sceptre  nor  throne. 

One  moment  I  lived  in  the  past, 
Beside  her  pavilion  I  bowed, 

Or  ran  to  the  templed  Nile  fast 

To  cheer  where  her  galleon  ploughed, 

And  prayed  for  the  vision  to  last, 

On  my  knees  in  a  worshipping  crowd. 

And,  maddened,  I  shouted  that  well 
Might  Roman  with  African  strive 

And  stumble  ensanguined  to  hell, 
Yet  cease  not  to  grapple  and  rive 

For  a  queen  whose  face  was  a  spell, 
For  the  fairest  of  women  alive. 


ROMANCES. 

I  would  I  were  mighty,  victorious, 

A  monarch  of  steel  and  of  gold ; 
I  would  I  were  one  of  the  glorious 

Divinities  hallowed  of  old, 
A  god  of  Olympian  fashion 

Who  mingled  with  women  and  men, 
A  deity  human  in  passion, 

Transhuman  in  strength  and  in  ken. 


RECOLLECTIONS    AND    REVERIES.  35 

For  then  I  could  render  the  pleasure 

I  win  from  the  sight  of  your  face ; 
For  then  I  could  utter  my  treasure 

Of  homage  and  thanks  for  your  grace ; 
I  could  dower,  illumine  and  gladden, 

Could  rescue  from  peril  and  tears, 
And  my  speech  could  vibrate  and  madden 

With  eloquence  worthy  your  ears. 

You  meet  me ;  your  greeting  is  kindly ; 

One  minute  I  marvel  and  gaze, 
Idolatrous,  worshipping  blindly, 

Yet  mindful  of  decorous  ways. 
You  pass ;  and  the  glory  is  ended, 

Though  lustre  and  taper  may  glow; 
The  goddess  who  made  the  night  splendid 

Has  vanished ;  and  darkly  I  go. 

You  knowT  not  how  quickly  you  mounted 

The  throne  in  the  depths  of  my  eyes ; 
You  care  not  how  meekly  I  counted 

Those  moments  for  pearls  of  the  skies ; 
Or,  knowing  it,  all  is  forgotten 

The  instant  I  fade  from  your  sight, 
Consigned  to  the  visions  begotten 

Of  chaos  and  slumber  and  night. 

But  I,  I  remember  your  glances, 

Your  chariest  gesture  and  word, 
And  out  of  them  fashion  romances 

Man  never  yet  uttered  nor  heard, 


36  MEDLEY. 

Romances  too  brilliant  for  mortals, 

Too  glad  for  a  planet  of  dole, 
Romances  that  open  the  portals 

Of  Eden  and  welcome  my  soul. 

HAIL,  AUGUSTA! 

Undeserving  to  woo  her,  to  win  her, 

I  creep  far  below  her  and  gaze 
As  up-gazes  a  vision-rapt  sinner 

To  seraphim  shining  through  haze. 
Shall  I  grovel  unworthy  forever? 

Ah  no !  I  will  fight  for  my  heart. 
Let  me  grapple  some  dizzy  endeavor 

And  mount  where  she  glitters  apart. 

Shall  I  seek  the  sun-fleeces  of  Jason 

And  scatter  their  gold  at  her  feet? 
To  Atlantis,  to  Indica  hasten 

And  carve  the  unknown  for  her  seat  ? 
Shall  I  foam  to  the  Fortunate  Islands, 

Or  claim  Eden's  blooms  for  us  two? 
O  illusions  of  earthlands  and  skylands, 

Inspire  me  to  will  and  to  do ! 

What  Titans  survive,  what  undying 

Medusas,  to  challenge  to  fame? 
What  habergeoned  destinies  crying 

Hortations  to  battle  and  flame? 
What  achievement,  what  knighthood  remaineth 

To  one  who  is  panting  for  worth  ? 
Love  repineth  and  wildly  complaineth 

That  perils  have  vanished  from  earth. 


RECOLLECTIONS    AND    REVERIES. 

I  would  drape  her  in  purple  befitting, 

Enthrone  her  and  give  her  a  crown, 
In  the  world-coliseum  high-sitting, 

To  regally  smile  and  look  down; 
Her  illumining  arms  marble-folded, 

A  thousand  keen  stars  in  her  eyes, 
And  the  face  that  a  demigod  moulded 

Uplifted  for  human  surprise; 

Around  her  the  terror  and  glory, 

The  laurels  and  blood  of  the  scene ; 
Eager  visages,  story  on  story, 

All  turning  to  her  as  their  queen ; 
While,  allotted  to  perish  before  her, 

Unchanging  in  color  and  breath, 
I  clamor,  "All  hail !  Thy  adorer 

Salutes  thee,  and  hastens  to  death." 


THE  ARCHER'S  PLEA. 

You  wouldn't  shoot  with  me,  Edith, 

When  the  heavens  were  argent  and  blue 

And  now  that  the  showers  are  falling, 
Edith  Anerly,  what  will  you  do? 

To  linger  at  breakfast  and  dinner, 

To  trifle  a  novelette  through, 
To  walk  in  the  porches  with  Leila, 

Will  that  be  sufficient  for  you  ? 


38  MEDLEY. 

The  evening  will  come  with  its  music 
And  feet  dropping  gently  as  dew; 

Perhaps  with  the  murmurs  and  throbbings 
Of  a  Douglas  tender  and  true. 

I  hope  it  will  all  be  delightful, 
I  trust  there'll  be  nothing  to  rue, 

Although  I  would  gladly  have  had  you 
One  hour  with  the  target  and  yew. 

The  arrows  that  glint  through  the  matches 
Of  life,  do  they  all  whistle  true? 

Are  they  missioned  to  centre  the  yellow, 
Or  even  to  edge  on  the  blue  ? 

I  trust  that  the  shafts  of  your  drawing 
Will  fly  as  Maid  Marian's  flew 

So  truly  and  duly  and  nobly 

You  may  not  regret  that  you  drew. 

But  I  shall  depart  and  not  see  it, 

Leave  here  and  leave  earth  before  you ; 

Shall  go  unregretted,  forgotten, 
And  apart  as  the  Wandering  Jew. 

So  remember,  before  I  have  vanished, 

To  do  what  alone  you  may  do, 
And  give  me  one  hour  of  Diana, 

Lithe  maid,  lovely  maid,  of  the  yew. 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  REVERIES.  39 

THE  SKATER. 

Along  the  frozen  lake  she  comes 
In  linking  crescents  light  and  fleet ; 

The  ice-embowered  undine  hums 
A  welcome  to  her  fairy  feet. 

I  see  the  jaunty  hat,  the  plume, 

Flit  bird-like  in  the  frosty  gale, 
The  cheeks  alight  with  burning  bloom, 

The  dark  eyes  beaming  through  the  veil. 

The  eager  breath  parts  coral  lips, 
The  marble  neck  parts  tossing  curls, 

The  witching  vesture  sways  and  dips 
As  round  she  wheels  in  rapid  whorls. 

Men  pause  and  smile  to  see  her  go ; 

They  gaze,  they  smile  in  pleased  surprise ; 
They  ask  her  name ;  they  long  to  show 

Some  silent  friendship  in  their  eyes. 

She  glances  not ;  she  passes  on ; 

Her  steely  footfall  quicker  rings ; 
She  guesses  not  the  benison 

That  follows  her  on  noiseless  wings. 

Smooth  be  her  ways,  secure  her  tread 

Along  the  devious  lines  of  life. 
From  grace  to  grace  successive  led, 

A  noble  maiden,  nobler  wife ! 

So  much  I  wish  her  \vhile  she  strays 
In  sylphic  dance  from  shore  to  shore, 

Already  fearful  lest  my  gaze 

May  chance  upon  her  nevermore. 


4O  MEDLEY. 

THE  SOLO. 

I  gaze  on  the  painted  windows, 
The  columns  ashy  and  cold, 

The  frescoed  saints  in  the  arches, 
The  ceiling  of  azure  and  gold. 

The  organ  thunders  and  shudders 
Like  a  monster  dying  in  pain ; 

The  chorus  has  wailed  its  parting, 
Lamenting,  repenting  in  vain. 


Then  out  of  the  gloom  arises 

An  angel  whose  wings  are  furled 

You  lift  your  voice  in  the  solo, 
And  I  fly  from  a  woful  world. 

I  traverse  ethereal  oceans ; 

Above  me  are  marvellous  skies ; 
I  win  the  islands  of  Glory 

And  the  beaches  of  Paradise. 

You  guide  me,  I  care  not  whither 
So  long  as  I  hear  you  sing ; 

Grief  dies  and  toil  is  forgotten ; 
Ah,  life  is  a  heavenly  thing. 

Then  silence  falls  like  a  terror 
That  blanches  the  face  of  mirth ; 

The  solo  ends,  and  I  waken 
To  toil  and  sorrow  and  earth. 


RECOLLECTIONS  AND  REVERIES.  4-1 

THE   HAUNTED   LADY. 

You  know  not,  lady,  how  often 

A  stranger  follows  your  trace, 
Or  lies  in  wait  for  your  coming 

To  win  a  sight  of  your  face. 

He  wanders  mute  as  a  phantom 

That  haunts  the  populous  street, 
Yet  may  not  murmur  its  burden 

To  those  it  chances  to  meet. 

He  longs,  like  the  ghost,  to  utter 

A  sigh,  a  yearning,  a  word; 
But  spells  forbid,  and  the  secret 

Is  spoken  in  heart,  unheard. 

The  message  is  naught  but  kindness, 

A  prayer  that  your  life  may  be 
As  fair  and  pure  as  the  beauty 

He  walks  so  often  to  see. 

.THE  COMING  GOODBYE. 

The  summer  will  come,  with  its  music 
Of  birds,  and  its  darting  of  plumes ; 

The  summer  will  come  with  its  sunshine, 
And  odors,  and  glory  of  blooms. 

The  wizard,  the  magical  summer, 
Will  dizen  the  town  with  his  smile, 

And  make  it  a  city  well  worthy 
To  sparkle  in  Eden  a  while ; 


42  MEDLEY. 

Will  deck  it  with  velvet  of  verdure* 
With  jewels  of  leaflet  and  flower, 

With  glamor  of  dawn  and  of  sunset, 
W^ith  shimmering  glamor  of  shower. 

But  you  will  depart  from  the  Eden 
The  moment  its  grace  is  complete ; 

Your  eyes  will  be  lost  from  the  window, 
Your  smile  will  abandon  the  street. 

The  beaches  will  hail  you ;  the  ocean 
Will  anthem  its  welcome  to  you ; 

To  you  the  glad  billows  will  flutter 
Their  pennons  of  argent  and  blue ; 

While  I,  in  the  sun-beaten  city, 

Shall  watch  for  your  passing  in  vain, 

And  think  of  your  lighthearted  greetings, 
And  wish  it  were  winter  again. 


RECOLLECTION. 

I  well  remember  the  moment 
When  first  I  beheld  your  face : 

A  moment :  it  passed  like  lightning 
But,  like  it,  it  left  a  trace. 

I  sat  in  the  hall  of  music, 

And  hundreds  beside  were  there, 
All  vanished  now  in  the  bygone, 

All  phantoms  faded  in  air. 


RECOLLECTIONS    AND    REVERIES.  43 

One  instant  I  saw  the  glances 

Of  blue,  the  braidings  of  gold ; 
Then  swiftly  that  ghostly  people 

Around  you,  hiding  you,  rolled. 

The  others  are  all  forgotten. 

The  music  has  left  no  tone, 
I  cannot  recall  the  pageant, 

I  remember  your  face  alone. 

• 

SEPARATION. 

Never  to  see  her  nor  hear  her, 

To  speak  her  name  aloud  never ; 
Yet  hold  her  always  the  dearer. 

Yet  love  her  forever. 

To  sleep  and  dream  I  am  near  her, 
To  curse  the  daybeams  that  sever ; 

To  hold  her  dearer  and  dearer, 
To  love  her  forever. 

To  see  from  day  to  day  clearer 

She  blights  both  hope  and  endeavor ; 

Yet  absolve  her,  bless  her,  revere  her, 
Yet  love  her  forever. 

Never  to  see  her  nor  hear  her, 
To  speak  her  name  aloud  never ; 

To  hold  her  always  the  dearer, 
To  love  her  forever.* 

*  Imitated  from  the  French  of  Sullv-Prudhomme. 


44  MEDLEY. 

CHERISHED  ILLUSIONS. 

Again  the  wonder-story  is  told. 

Is  she  who  listens  woman  or  vision? 
I  know  the  braidings  of  sunrise  gold, 

The  tranquil  gaze  of  azure  elysian — 
Such  gold  and  azure  as  though  the  skies 
Had  rained  their  glory  in  braids  and  eyes. 

Have  all  the  cruel,  malignant  years 

Been  merely  slumber,  nightmare,  illusion  ? 

Has  it  only  seemed  that  love  was  tears? 
That  hope  was  mockery,  life  confusion? 

That  those  who  purposed  to  walk  together 

Have  walked  apart  through  misery's  weather? 

Is  it  true  that  I  am  all  I  was 

In  days  \vhen  joy  partook  of  madness? 
That  I  have  broken  destiny's  laws 

And  torn  from  death  a  vanished  gladness  ? 
Yea,  all  the  happiness  long  as  life 
I  dreamed  to  win  in  dreaming  her  wife  ? 

O  let  me  believe  the  false  to-day ! 

No  boding  glance !  no  cruel  negation ! 
Believe  with  me,  Blondine,  and  say, 

The  morrow  brings  no  separation. 
Endow  me  richly,  O  love !  my  treasure, 
With  all  that  dreams  can  coin  of  pleasure. 
********* 

O  fair  illusions  of  long  ago ! 

O  why  return  in  guise  of  a  maiden  ? 


RECOLLECTIONS    AND    REVERIES.  -1  3 

Too  many  the  broken  hopes  I  know 

Since  Yahveh  drave  me  forth  from  Aidenn ; 
Too  many  phantoms  and  winning  guiles 
Follow  and  mock  with  remembered  smiles. 

SUNSET  ON   LEBANON. 

Robed  in  vermilion  the  sun  sinks  behind  Cypriot  moun 
tains  ; 
Daintily    many-hued    eve    mantles    with    rainbows 

Libanus ; 
Darkles    already    Beyroot    between    its    gardens    and 

harbor ; 
Beyond,  "the   Mediterranean   stretches    in   quest   of 

Atlantis. 

Far  is  the  sea,  yet  anigh ;  furlongs  below  me  the  surges 
Hammer  the  beaches  with  foam ;  yet.  faintly  rises 

their  clamor, 
Softened    to    murmurings    low — a    scarcely    audible 

sighing. 
Various    glitters    the    sea — calms    intermixed    with 

whitecaps ; 
Many  the  breezes  that  cross  it — orient,  northern  and 

southern ; 
Barks   with   favoring  gales,    steering   for   opposite 

havens, 
Driven   by   hectoring   gods,   or   drawn   by   whimsical 

tritons. 
Broad  and  benign  is  the  sea,  yet  few  are  the  keels 

that  track  it ; 

Less  than  a  dozen  I  mark,  though  Sidon  is  near  and 
'  Tyrus. 


4.6  MEDLEY. 

But    argosies    manned    by    ghosts    swiftly    arrive, 

uncountable, 

Opulent  navies  of  old  flowing  in  endless  procession; 
Tyrian,    Persian,    Hellene,    Roman   and   Arab   and 

Tartar ; 
Galleys   of  crossletted  knights,   Godfrey  and   leonine 

Richard ; 
Frigates  of  gunpowder  times  reeling  through  vapor 

of  battle. 
Thus  for  a  little  I  gaze,  wrapped  in  a  dream  of  the 

bygone, 
Careless    that    glorious-eyed    Lulu    and     Miriam, 

near  me, 

Prattle   their    Syrian    views    concerning    supper    and 
breakfast. 


THE  LOTTERY  VALENTINE. 

By  chance  allotted  as  the  mate 
Of  one  you  neither  love  nor  know, 
Who  brings  you  neither  joy  nor  woe, 

What  mockery  is  this  of  fate! 

We  play  like  children  at  a  game, 
We  mime  the  deepest  game  of  life, 
We  prattle  words  like  love  and  wife 

Whose  fire  should  set  the  soul  aflame. 

No  purpose  hides  beneath  our  vows, 

No  heartbeat  storms  athwart  our  mirth; 
We  hold  our  words  as  little  worth 

As  bird-notes  tinkling  through  the  boughs. 


RECOLLECTIONS    AND    REVERIES.  47 

We  shoot  an  arrow  in  the  dark, 

Xor  know  if  destiny  will  guide 

The  careless  missile  all  aside, 
Or  drive  it  through  a  throbbing  mark. 

And  yet  the  fragile  jest  may  live, 

A  prophecy  of  something  sure, 

Of  something  bitter  to  endure, 
Or  sweet  as  Paradise  can  give. 


UNDERNEATH. 

The  skater  lightly  laughs  and  glides, 
Unknowing  that,  beneath  the  ice 
Whereon  he  carves  his  fair  device, 

A  stiffened  corpse  in  silence  slides. 

It  glareth  upward  at  his  play ; 
Its  rigid,  ashy  fingers  steal 
Beneath  his  gaily  flying  heel ; 

It  floats  along  and  floats  away. 

He  has  not  seen  its  horror  pass ; 

His  heart  is  blithe;  the  village  hears 
His  distant  laughter;  he  careers 

In  festive  waltz  athwart  the  glass. 

We  are  the  skaters,  we  who  skim 
The  glare  of  life's  enchanted  flood, 
And  drive  with  gladness  in  the  blood 

A  daring  dance  from  brim  to  brim. 


48  MEDLEY. 

-Our  feet  are  swift,  our  faces  burn, 
Our  hopes  aspire  like  soaring  birds ; 
The  world  takes  courage  from  our  words 

And  sees  the  golden  time  return. 

But  ever  near  us,  silent,  cold, 
Are  those  who  bounded  from  the  bank 
With  eager  hearts,  like  us,  and  sank 

Because  their  feet  were  overbold. 

They  sank  through  breathing-holes  of  vice, 
Through  luring  sheens  of  unbelief ; 
They  know  not  their  despair  and  grief ; 

Their  hearts  and  minds  are  turned  to  ice. 


THE    WIZARD. 

The  pulse  of  sunlight,  ocean,  air  and  flame, 
The  pulse  of  rhythm  along  the  cadenced  line, 
The  pulse  of  music,  Ponto's  pulse  and  mine, 

Are  they  diverse,  O  Wizard,  or  the  same? 

I  heard  the  Wizard  answer  from  the  sky : 
"The  universe  is  but  a  phantom  show ; 
I  bid  one  shadow  come,  another  go; 

There  is  but  one  thing  real ;  it  is  I. 

''Their  strength  is  but  a  little  heat;  their  soul 
Is  but  a  little  swiftness ;  they  are  waves 
That  only  move  to  find  their  sudden  graves, 

That  only  seem  to  live  because  they  roll." 


RECOLLECTIONS    AND   REVERIES.  49 

He  said  moreover,  "Each  to  each  I  turn ; 

I  interchange  and  play  the  game  agen ; 

I  crown  the  water-jellies  kings  of  men; 
I  summon  midges  from  the  kingly  urn. 

"The  same !"  the  Wizard  said,  "the  very  same ! 

The  same  in  matter,  rhythmus,  heat  and  power ! 

I  know  not  why  the  fleeting  shapes  I  shower 
Around  my  throne  bear  difference  of  name." 


DESPONDENCIES. 

"Where  are  the  visions  of  my  boyish  nights? 

And  where  the  glowing  hopes  of  yestermorn  ? 

Have  I  done  anything  since  I  was  born 
But  watch,  with  eyelids  closed,  unreal  sights? 

I  sometimes  think  of  labors  gone  before, 
And  say,   "To-morrow  morning  I  resume; 
The  treasured  flask  retains  the  old  perfume." — 

Alas !  the  treasured  flask  retains  no  more. 

Unless  the  sun  of  Austerlitz  arise, 

In  vain  the  chieftain's  head,  the  hero's  heart; 

Unless  the  tricksy  wind  of  fortune  start, 
\Ye  cannot  reach  our  Earthly  Paradise. 

An  archer  shot  an  arrow  in  the  dark, 

And  laughed,  "  'Tis  but  an  arrow  thrown  away." 
But  when  he  sported  forth  at  break  of  day 

He  found  his  brother  lying  white  and  stark. 


5O  MEDLEY. 

A  speck  of  dust  has  lost  another  speck, 

And  prays  the  Sund'ring  Storm  to  soothe  its  woes; 
The  Storm  drives  on,  and  every  moment  blows 

A  thousand  other  tiny  loves  to  wreck. 

Each  century  some  mighty  soul  displays 
The  all-explaining  Fact  which  all  admit; 
But  ere  a  hundred  years  his  name  is  writ 

Among  the  charlatans  of 'bygone  days. 

"No  hell !"  the  sage  proclaimed :  we  danced  with  mirth. 
Apollyon  heard,  and  answered  with  a  smile : 
"You  cannot  do  without  me  yet  awhile, 

Unless  you  hanker  for  a  hell  on  earth." 


EN  VOYAGE. 

I  stood  in  Venice,  on  the  Bridge  of  Tears, 

And  sighed  to  see  the  spectres  thronging  through ; 
But  they  replied,  "You  are  the  captive,  you ! 

We  have  been  free  as  air  these  many  years." 

I  watched  the  billows  beat  the  Adrian  shore ; 

Each  tossed  exultingly,  then  ceased  to  be ; 

And  one  of  them  was  you,  and  one  was  me : 
But  Ocean  lived  and  thundered  as  before. 

The  Coliseum !   There  at  Caesar's  feet, 
The  gladiator  bowed  his  pale  farewell ; 
But  pausing  there,  I  mused  of  Heaven  and  Hell, 
And  worlds  dismissed  to  triumph  or  defeat. 


RECOLLECTIONS    AXD    REVERIES.  5 

While  in  the  Pantheon  I  knelt  to  pray, 

With  thoughts  of  Jove  and  Jesus  much  perplext, 
A  broken  Hermes  scoffed,  "What  credence  next?" 

And  haloed  saints  lamented,   "Who  can  say?" 

To  find  the  Truth,  the  Truth  that  cannot  die, 
I- wandered  darkling,  wandered  everywhere, 
Until  a  statue,  through  the  Grecian  air, 

All  beautiful,  responded,  "Here  am  I." 


NEW  YORK  BAY  ix   1624. 

Skipper  Cornelis  Mey,  hardy  sea-rover  of  Holland, 
Clutches  with  horny  hand  the  galliot's   squeaking 

tiller, 

Whistling  a  viking's  prayer  to  indolent  elves  of  breezes, 
Marking  the  shaking  sails  and  the  streaky  foam  of 

the  currents; 
Whiles,  in  the  hollowing  waist,  sombre  of  visage  and 

vesture, 
Marvelling,  stand  the  Walloons,  dumb  as  if  carven 

in  marble, 
Watching   the   oncoming   point   of   a   hazy,    forested 

island, 
Dotted  with  cabins  of  bark,  where  salvages  scream 

and  signal 
Wild  invitation — to  what?  barter?  or  cannibal  battle? 

Wandering,    swarthy   Walloons,    born    of   pre-Aryan 
races, 


52  MEDLEY. 

Chased  from  Numidian*  plains  to  Europe  in  mythi 
cal  aeons; 

Hunters  primeval  beside  the  Tagus  and  Guadalquivir, 
Threading  the  bald  Pyrenees,  the  forests  of  Gaul  and 

Arden ; 
Scattering  Teuton  and  Kimber,  yielding  to  Caesar  and 

Clovis, 
Torn  by  unwearying  war,  shared  among  chaffering 

princes, 
Yet   still  existent,   nor  quite   forgetful  of  name   and 

glory ; 
Whither  betide  you  at  last?     sons  of  the  Belgae — 

my  fathers — 
Tracking  the  Occident  wave  under  the  lion  of  Holland. 

"Tumults  and  terrors  we  leave,  flying  from  Spain  the 

destroyer 
Drunken  with  blood  of  the  saints,  thirsting  for  blood 

forever ; 
Battle-trod   Europe  we  leave,   seeking  the  shores   of 

Atlantis, 
Daring  the  grave-digging  sea,  the  deadly  breath  of 

morasses, 
Daring   the   puma   and   bear,    the   wolf   and    furtive 

Mohican ; 
Hoping,  at  least,  to  obtain  peace  from  the  warrings 

of  nations, 

Peace  from  the  scaffold  and  stake;  yea,  freedom  of 
word  and  worship." 

*So  say  Collignon  and  others,  while  Ripley  and  others  say 
Armenian. 


RECOLLECTIONS    AND    REVERIES.  53 

So  answer  the  dark  Walloons,  pilgrims  of  numerous 

ages, 

Hunted  from  land  unto  land  by  stress  of  following 
peoples. 


THE  OLD-TIME  VILLAGE. 

Evening  descends  on  the  village, 
The  dew  has  jewreled  the  blooms, 

The  hawks  are  wheeling  and  darting, 
The  beetles  whir  in  the  glooms. 

Moonlight  silvers  the  rapid, 
The  waterfall  pours  its  drone, 

The  frogs  hold  revel  in  chorus, 
The  whippoorwill  grieves  alone. 

A  somnolent  handful  gathers 

In  the  dusky  schoolhouse  for  prayer; 

Beneath  the  sharp  nose  of  the  pastor 
Two  candles  gutter  and  flare. 

A  russet-faced  deacon  rises 

To  speak — if  ever  he  can. 
He  halts  and  mumbles :  no  matter : 

God  hears  the  worthy  wee  man. 

A  ringleted  maiden's  treble 

Bewitches  the  schoolboy's  ear: — 

Even  yet,  O  dimpled  soprano, 
Your  anthem  exults,  and  I  hear ! 


54  MEDLEY. 

The  village  remains,  and  the  river 
Beams,  and  the  roses  blow ; 

But  the  long-since  dead  are  the  only 
Abiders  there  I  know. 

The  living  pass  me  in  silence, 
Remembrance  and  welcome  fail; 

But  the  holy  ones  of  the  churchyard 
Awaken  to  bid  me,  Hail ! 


TALES   AND   BALLADS 


TALES  AND  BALLADS. 

A   SEASIDE   STORY. 

i 
The  Mer  maiden. 

There  were  jubilant  sails  on  the  ocean 
And  skeleton  wrecks  on  the  land ; 

There  were  laughters  of  billows  in  motion 
To  dance  and  to  die  on  the  sand. 

There  were  shadowy  Thules  of  islands, 
\Yhere  Edens  of  lovers  might  be ; 

There  was  sea  to  the  faraway  skylands, 
Wild,  futile  heartbeatings  of  sea. 

There  were  sea-gods  and  nymphs  in  the  waters 
That  burnished  the  beach  with  their  spray ; 

All  the  beautiful  sons  and  the  daughters 
Of  ocean  had  gathered  in  play. 

But  the  marvel  of  all,  and  the  jewel, 

Was  a  heart  that  had  worshipped  for  years, 

Which  a  mermaiden  laughing  and  cruel 
Had  flung  to  a  tempest  of  tears. 


58  MEDLEY. 

II 

The  Seaside  Lake. 

A  lake  beside  the  ocean's  brim, 
Where  velvet  lilies  dream  and  swim, 
And  rushes  nod  beside  the  whisper 
Of  ripples  shimmering  faint  and  dim. 

Anear,  the  yearning  tempest  cries ; 
It  comes  from  Love's  lost  paradise; 

It  leaps  against  the  barring  beaches ; 
It  foams  in  agony,  writhes  and  dies. 

In  vain  the  surges  sob  and  break; 
They  cannot  reach  the  prisoned  lake, 
Nor  rive  the  crystal  of  its  ripples, 
Nor  kiss  one  silvery  flower  awake. 

O  love,  our  lives  are  shored  apart, 
And  all  the  cyclones  of  my  heart 

Can  never  fling  one  throbbing  billow 
Among  the  refuges  where  thou  art. 


in 
The  Meeting. 

Do  you  remember  the  night 
Of  crescented,  astral  glamor, 

The  beaches  brindled  with  light, 
The  foam  and  the  billowy  clamor? 


TALES    AND    BALLADS.  59 

Do  you  remember  the  bliss 

So  stealthily  sought  and  hidden? 

The  clasp,  the  pressure,  the  kiss, 
That  all  the  gods  had  forbidden? 

Alas  that  a  love  for  life 

Must  live  and  die  without  token ! 
That  the  dearest  of  words,  "My  wife" 

Must  be  forever  unspoken  ! 

As  Heaven  is  my  witness,  I 

Had  gladly  cherished  that  woman 

In  face  of  the  sea  and  the  sky,  • 
The  earth  and  all  that  is  human. 

Years  hence  that  evening  will  beam 

Athwart  life's  ocean  of  sadness, 
And  I  shall  see  it,  and  dream 

That  loving  was  naught  but  gladness. 

IV 

Remembrance. 

I  had  thought  to  see  her  no  more, 

But  I  dwell  in  Thules  of  fancy. 
And  she  haunteth  their  every  shore 

With  her  beautiful  necromancy. 

In  the  midnight's  hiddenmost  lair, 

In  the  morning's  vividest  portal, 
I  discern  her  aslant  on  air, 

Like  a  spirit  who  greets  a  mortal. 


6O  MEDLEY. 

O  the  delicate,  tender  gleam 
Of  the  carven  Parian  features, 

Such  as  sculptors  delight  to  dream 
Of  in  marble  for  godlike  creatures ! 

As  I  worship  she  seems  to  chase 
All  of  sombreness  from  my  story, 

And  around  me  infinite  space 

Overbrims  one  moment  with  glory. 

But  a  moment !   And  then  the  spot 
Is  a  cell  for  the  broken-hearted, 

And  that  portraiture,  thus  forgot, 
Is  another  angel  departed. 

TENDER   AND   TRUE. 

i 
The   Stroll. 

Do  you  remember  the  diadem ' 

Of  purple  cliff  where  we  stood  together, 
Beneath  the  canopied  golden  weather, 

And  saw  the  lanskip  gleam  like  a  gem  ? 

Saw  burnished  river,  meadow  and  vales, 
The  lustrous  domes  of  emerald  highland, 
The  topaz  strand  of  the  distant  island, 

The  turquoise  mere  and  the  pearly  sails? 

The  pageant  flashed  like  a  jeweled  dream; 

But  your  enchantment  doubled  the  splendor ; 

You  cast  the  glory,  mighty  and  tender, 
Of  love  on  forest,  meadow  and  stream. 


TALES    AND    BALLADS.  6  I 

Far  into  heaven  I  soared  the  while ; 

Frail  as  you  seemed,  you  had  seraph  pinions ; 

You  bore  me  to  fanes  in  starry  dominions ; 
You  made  me  god  with  merely  your  smife. 

You  made  me  god,  companioned  with  you — 
Ashtar  and  Adon — sister  and  brother ; 
But  not  alike  divine  to  each  other ; 

I  was  the  sham  god ;  you  were  the  true. 

Do  you  remember — Alas,  alas ! 

Tis  I,  and  I  alone,  who  remember ; 

That  hour,  to  you,  is  a  perished  ember, 
A  withered  nosegay,  an  emptied  glass. 


ii 

A    Hope. 

A  little  hope ! 

It  may  not  be  true ! 

And  the  heavens  above  me  seem  to  ope 
Their  curtains  of  blue; 

And  the  angel  ladders  of  sunlight  slope 
For  me  to  mount  and  pass  through. 

The  tale  that  I  heard 

Was  only  the  chirp  of  a  random  bird, 

A  babble  some  ancient  grimalkin  purred, 

The  repetition  of  nobody's  word, 
A  note  that  hazard  or  fantasy  blew, 
That  the  freaky  pigmies  of  elfland  drew 
From  harebell  trumpets  jeweled  with  dew 


62  MEDLEY. 

Why  should  I  mope, 

I  who  have  dared  with  heroes  to  cope, 

Who  barely  yesterday  ceased  to  gird 
My  loins  for  battle  with  treason's  crew  ? 

Why  should  I  throb  and  reel  and  shiver 

Like  a  reed  in  the  river, 
Because  an  airy  inanity  stirred, 

Because  an  arrow  from  falsehood's  quiver 
Out  of  vacancy  whirred, 

Into  nothingness  flew 
And  is  spent  forever? 

Now  peace  has  come, 
The  air  with  promise  of  love  is  laden ; 

I  will  turn  my  back  on  the  silenced  drum 

And  seek  the  rest  of  my  childhood's  home, 
There  to  worship  once  more  and  sue 

Before  the  face  of  the  fairest  girl 

God  ever  wrought  in  coral  and  pearl, 
Or  marble  of  Aidenn. 

in 
The  Wedding. 

I  have  fought  and  fallen.     The  strife  was  vain, 
The  maniac  wrestle  for  unbelief — 

Recoil  of  an  idiot  wild  with  pain — 
A  tortured  idiot,  mad  for  relief. 

I  have  seen  and  believed-.     The  tale  stood  well — 
As  strong  as  despair  and  sin  and  grief — 

As  true  as — yes,  that  earth  is  a  hell 

Where  onlv  the  damned  and  the  devils  dwell. 


TALES    AND   BALLADS.  63 

I  lurked  by  the  lattice  and  saw — not  all — 
But  more  and  clearer  than  heart  could  bear. 

A  taunting  splendor  illumined  the  hall ; 
The  music  clamored  with  insolent  blare. 

I  cowered  and  glared  while  the  careless  tread 
Of  passers  jostled  my  dumb  despair, 

Not  knowing  they  trampled  a  heart  that  bled, 

Not  knowing  they  stumbled  against  one  dead. 

The  gibbering  drunkard  struck  my  cheek ; 

But  what  to  me  was  a  stranger's  blow  ? 
My  friend  had  stabbed  me;  my  soul  was  weak 

And  humble  and  unresenting  with  woe. 
And  she  I  worshipped  had  edged  the  blade, 

And  bidden  me  bare  my  breast.     But  no! 
I  cannot  hate  her ;  I  was  not  made 
To  curse  the  altar  where  once  I  prayed. 

They  had  craved  my  presence.     A  scented  note 
Arrived  in  bridal  ribbons  to  plead — 

Go !     I  would  sooner  have  held  my  throat 
To  the  cannibal's  knife  and  bid  him  feed. 

Go!     I  trampled  the  billet  to  earth 

And  swore  to  have  done  with  the  human  breed — 

To  house  myself  by  my  blighted  hearth 

Till  the  burial  mutes  should  bear  me  forth. 

And  yet  I  went — like  a  beggar  crept 

Through  tainted  alleys  and  reeled  to  the  door ; 

Shaded  my  visage  and  wept — yes,  wept ! 
To  hear  the  viols  their  jubilee  pour — 


64  MEDLEY. 

Quivered  with  rage  when  the  rhythmic  beat 
Of  dancers  hollowly  thrummed  the  floor, 
And  started  away  with  tremulous  feet 
If  a  waltzer  paused  by  the  window  seat. 

At  last  I  wandered,  crouching  and  dumb, 
Like  a  starving  tiger,  balked  of  his  prey, 

To  my  lonely  dwelling,  my  childhood's  home 
(My  cell  henceforth  to  my  dying  day), 

Divided  from  hers  by  a  wooded  dell, 
And  watched  in  frenzy  her  window  ray 

Until  it  vanished,  and  with  it  fell 

The  only  glimmer  that  lighted  my  hell. 


IV 

The    Grove. 

The  wooded  ravine  fills  with  night 
Between  her  roof  and  mine, 

But  through  its  boughs  I  mark  the  light 
Of  her  chamber  window  shine, 

A  dazing  glimmer,  ruby  bright, 
That  turns  my  brain  like  wine. 

A  little  grove,  a  hundred  trees : 

I  know  each  oak  and  fir. 
I  wander  there  to  hear  the  glees 

Of  the  birds  who  sing  of  her, 
To  kiss  the  passing  of  the  breeze 

Whose  plumes  her  curtain  stir. 


TALES    AND    BALLADS.  65 

A  little  grove,  but  cruel  strong, 

It  rules  us  like  to  slaves ; 
Between  our  lives  its  shadows  throng 

With  the  sweep  of  ocean's  waves ; 
The  power  that  sunders  right  from  wrong 

Pervades  the  leafy  naves. 

No  might  but  his  could  break  the  spell 

Who  lords  the  demon  sky. 
How  often  would  I  thank  him  well, 

If  the  beast  would  steal  anigh 
And  lead  me  through  that  barring  dell — 

To  win  her? — Xo,  to  die. 


The  Sleep. 

He  had  threaded  the  wood; 

He  had  paused  in  its  utmost  verge, 
The  verge  where  her  dwelling  stood ; 
And  there  had  laid  him  to  brood 

In  tune  to  the  night-wind's  dirge, 
To  the  wail  of  midnight's  mournfulest  mood. 

And  there  he  slept 
When  the  morning  threw 
Its  fragrant  shadows  athwart  the  dew 

And  dried  the  tears  that  the  roses  had  wept 
The  tender  light  of  the  infant  morn, 
The  light  of  a  day  just  born, 

Awoke  from  its  cradle  and  touched  his  brow  ; 

A  day  that  never  knew  him  till  now 


66  MEDLEY. 

Parted  the  branches  and  touched  and  kist 

More  gently  than  kisses  the  frosted  flake, 
As  though  it  loved  the  moment  it  wist. 

It  touched,  but  might  not  awake; 

Alas !  nor  evil  nor  good, 

That  slumber  may  shake. 
He  sleeps 

In  the  midst  of  the  mighty  brood 
Who  inhabit  the  unknown  caves 
Beneath  eternity's  deeps, 
Beneath  the  mere  whose  ripples  are  graves. 

He  knows  the  slumber  that  wakes  not, 

He  has  entered  the  rest  that  breaks  not. 
His  eye^s,  while  gazing  upon  her  home, 
Where  footstep  of  his  might  never  come, 

Had  drooped  and  closed  forever. 
They  saw  the  Eden  forbid  to  him ; 
They  saw — and  then  their  sight  was  dim. 

The  heavens  darkened,  earth  fell  dumb. 
The  clock  that  striketh,  "Forever  !     Never!" 

Rang  out.     He  passed  eternity's  brim. 
Gone  was  the  thought  of  gladness  departed, 

Gone  the  sorrow  that  slew ; 
And  there  he  lay,  the  brave  loving-hearted, 

Love's  Douglas,  tender  and  true. 


TALES    AND    BALLADS.  67 

VI 

The  Dead   March. 

The  hoarse  drum  groans,  the  shrill  fife  greets, 
The  dead-march  wails  from  hearth  to  tomb, 

The  ranked  feet  tramp  through  black-hung  streets, 
The  swart  steeds  drag  the  bier's  slow  gloom. 

The  men  he  led  still  march  with  him, 
They  keep  the  step  and  speak  no  word ; 

Their  brows  are  knit,  their  eyes  are  dim, 

Their  thoughts  are  grave,  their  hearts  are  stirred. 

They  mind  how  oft  in  war's  fierce  blaze 

He  cheered  them  where  a  fiend  might  quail, 

How  red  his  cheek,  how  blithe  his  gaze — 

That  gaze  now  quenched,  that  cheek  now  pale. 

With  slow,  set  tread  they  pass  her  by. 

She  gives  one  glance  and  drops  one  tear. 
They  know  he  died,  they  ask  not  why : 

They  mark  her  not,  though  she  is  near. 

They  hold  that  death  is  lord  of  all, 

They  hold  that  no  man  owns  his  breath, 

They  hold  that  each  must  have  his  ball, 
That  life  is  war,  and  war  is  death. 

They  halt ;  they  fire  the  last  sad  shot 

With  calm,  stern  eyes  and  sure,  strong  hands ; 

Then  quickly,  lightly  leave  the  spot 
To  jubilant  bars  of  brazen  bands. 


68  MEDLEY. 

THE  SAME  IN  THE  ENDING. 

Our  eyes  greet  often  and  often, 
Yet  know  each  other  no  better, 

Though  sometimes  hers  seemed  to  soften 
When  sudden  and  near  I  met  her. 

And  once  I  thought  she  grew  paler 
Because  I  approached  too  boldly. 

What  folly !    No  heartbeat  would  fail  her, 
Though  I  slept  starkly  and  coldly. 

No  doubt  'twould  waken  her  scorning 
To  know  that  such  fancies  cheer  me ; 

To  know  that  I  rise  each  morning 
From  visions  throning  her  near  me ; 

To  know  that  throbbing  and  humming 
And  dizziness  stir  my  senses 

When  far  off  I  see  her  coming 
And  hope  for  one  of  her  glances. 

What  could  she  care  for  a  stranger, 
Grave,  silent,  passing  in  hurry, 

Whose  love  would  be  but  a  danger, 
Whose  gaze  perhaps  is  a  worry? 

Farewell !     We  part  without  meeting ; 

Yet  the  senseless  word  rings  sadly. 
Farewell !     'Tis  my  only  greeting 

To  one  I  might  have  loved  madly. 


TALES    AND    BALLADS.  69 

With  tears  it  was  felt  and  written ; 

Alas !  it  could  not  be  spoken. 
Years  flitted ;  those  hearts  were  smitten 

By  others ;  by  others  broken. 

Twas  all  the  same  in  the  ending; 

'Twas  only  sobbing  and  sighing; 
Their  smiles  were  naught  but  pretending; 

Their  first  true  gladness  was  dying. 

'Twas  all  the  same  in  the  sorrow 

As  though  they  had  tower'd  in  sinning; 

And  if  God's  to-day  had  no  morrow, 
His  smile  were  scarcely  worth  winning. 


THE  VESTAL. 

All  the  day  we  are  holden  asunder 

By  destiny's  infinite  hands, 
By  society's  carping  and  wonder ; 

By  creeds  and  their  stony  commands, 
By  the  chidings  of  dogma  and  virtue, 

By  maidenhood's  blush  in  your  face, 
By  my  terror  lest  loving  may  hurt  you, 

By  conscience  and  grace. 

But  at  night,  in  the  Eden  of  slumber, 
All  obstacles  fade  and  depart ; 

Xor  the  planets  nor  man  may  encumber 
My  way  to  your  side  and  your  heart ; 


7O  MEDLEY. 

I  believe  that  my  longings  have  won  you 
To  render  my  soul  its  desire; 

I  believe  that  my  kisses  fall  on  you 
Like  rose  leaves  of  fire. 

So  we  live  till  the  moment  of  waking 

Removes  you  and  joy  from  my  side; 
Yes,  the  day  in  its  envious  breaking 

Has  stolen  my  virginal  bride, 
Who  laid  on  my  shoulder  her  tresses 

And  smiled  when  I  called  her  my  own ; 
It  has  borne  her  from  vows  and  caresses, 

And  left  me  alone. 


THE    BISHOP    OF    THULE. 

The  Lord  Archbishop  of  Thule 
( God  grant  him  honor  and  ruth ! ) 

Believed  most  truly  and  duly 
In  all  that  he  held  for  truth. 

As  angels  know  in  the  skylands 
High  grace  the  bishop  achieved; 

He  sailed  to  the  Fairy  Islands 

And  preached  there  what  he  believed. 

He  summoned  the  elfin  legions 
To  leave  their  heathenish  creed, 

And  told  them  of  lofty  regions 
More  lovely  than  fairy  mead. 


TALES    AND    BALLADS.  71 

Far  into  the  night  he  pleaded ; 

The  moon  went  hearkening  by, 
And  only  the  starlight  beaded 

The  magical  elfland  sky. 

"O  brothers,"  he  cried,  "great  wonders 
The  truth  of  my  words  shall  prove; 

Belief  can  loosen  the  thunders 
And  cause  the  hills  to  remove. 

"But  thunders  would  sorely  frighten. 

And  never  a  hill  is  here ; 
I'll  pray  that  the  stars  which  brighten 

This  welkin  may  disappear." 

His  honest  old  hands  he  lifted, 

And  closed  his  honest  old  eyes, 
And  prayed  till  the  daybeams  drifted 

In  argosies  through  the  skies. 

Then  yearning,  hoping,  confiding, 

Upturning  his  grateful  gaze, 
He  saw  the  galaxies  hiding 

Their  glory  in  morning's  haze. 

Thereon  the  little  brown  people, 

The  trolls  and  fairies  and  elves, 
Erected  a  chapel  and  steeple, 

And  prayed  for  wonders  themselves. 

And  the  bishop  proclaimed  in  Thule, 

"A  miracle  God  hath  wrought ;" 
And  all  that  he  said  he  truly 

Believed  in  his  inmost  thought. 


72  MEDLEY. 

THE  LOST   HUNTER. 

The  mountains  grow  daily  stranger, 
The  river  windings  betray; 

And  the  ranger  who  laughed  at  danger 
Has  lost  forever  his  way. 

Full  many  a  shore  he  trended, 
Full  many  a  desert  crost, 

Full  many  a  crest  ascended; 

But  Boone,  the  hunter,  was  lost. 

At  last,  as  the  day  fell  dimmer, 
He  came  to  a  peak  of  snow, 

Revealing  with  ghostly  glimmer 

More  countries  than  mortals  know. 

And  there,  on  the  topmost  glisten, 
The  ranger  saw  phantoms  three, 

Each  warning,  "O  pilgrim,  listen!" 
Each  pleading,  "O  come  with  me !" 

A  seraph  was  one  from  glory, 
And  one  was  a  darkling  sprite, 

And  one  was  a  chieftain  of  story 
The  hunter  had  slain  in  fight. 

Three  trails  they  showed  him,  divided 
The  one  from  the  other  far; 

The  first  through  firmaments  glided 
To  ramparts  bright  as  a  star; 


TALES    AND    BALLADS.  73 

The  second  slanted  through  shadows 
Beyond  earth's  somberest  bounds ; 

The  third  sought  emerald  meadows — 
The  Beautiful  Hunting  Grounds. 

Said  Boone,  "The  skyland  is  brighter 

Than  sinner  like  me  may  scale. 
And  only  a  craven  fighter 

Belongs  in  the  murky  trail ; 

"So  now  to  my  ancient  foeman 

I  proffer  my  troth  and  say: 
Guide  me,  O  bowman,  where  no  man 

Unearths  the  hatchet  to  slay." 


THE  GOAT. 

When  Lucifer  fled  from  Salem 

He  rode  a  reverend  goat 
Who  talked  like  the  beast  of  Baalam 

And  knew  all  magic  by  rote. 

No  steed  had  ever  such  motion, 
Or  strength,  or  terrible  mien ; 

He  vaulted  mountain  and  ocean, 
He  frighted  as  soon  as  seen. 

Wherever  his  footfalls  dallied 

They  withered  the  blooms  and  grass ; 

The  comets  and  stars  went  pallid 
With  horror  to  see  him  pass. 


74  MEDLEY. 

The  witches  welcomed  his  coming, 
The  dead  arose  from  their  graves, 

The  fiends  fled  hustling  and  humming 
From  Shed's  shadiest  caves. 

The  goat  got  prouder  and  prouder, 
He  fancied  this  power  his  own; 

Each  minute  he  boasted  louder, 
And  talked  of  himself  alone. 

"Dear  Satan,  the  day  is  breaking 
When  earth  will  know  me,"  he  said ; 

"The  stars  in  the  sky  are  quaking 
Already  to  hear  my  tread. 

"My  force  and  knowledge  of  magic 
Are  surely  beyond  compare ; 

I  long  to  do  something  tragic 
And  make  the  universe  stare. 

"I  long  to  throw  down  a  quarter, 
Or  so,  of  the  heavenly  host, 

And  trample  the  trash  to  mortar, 
To  show  who  governs  the  roast. 

Just  then  the  pilgrimage  ended 
Beside  the  portal  of  Hell ; 

In  silence  Satan  descended, 

Scarce  nodding  the  goat  farewell. 

That  moment  his  gifts  departed — 
Gab,  sorcery,  speed  and  pluck ; 

No  longer  Creation  started 
Whenever  he  reared  to  buck. 


TALES    AND    BALLADS.  75 

A  FABLE  OF  SALEM. 

"Come  quickly  !"  wept  the  dying  Grace  ; 

"Abide  with  me,  my  pastor! 
Then  might  I  finish  well  the  race, 

And  mount  and  fly  the  faster ; 
Then  might  I  suffer  the  Maker's  face 

And  kiss  the  feet  of  the  Master." 

But  far  away  the  forest  rocked 

With  storms  from  curst  dominions ; 

The  witches  skirred,  the  wizards  flocked, 
The  air  was  thick  with  pinions ; 

And  there  the  minister  danced  and  mocked 
With  Satan's  sootiest  minions. 

He  mocked  and  danced  in  priestly  black; 

No  warlock  matched  his  leaping. 
Apollyon  clapped  his  portly  back 

And  laughed  almost  to  weeping; 
And  the  parson  skipped  like  a  jumping- jack 

To  think  his  deacons  were  sleeping. 

But  high  above  the  mongrel  herd, 

Above  the  maddened  Endor, 
The  mighty,  shining  cohorts  gird 

A  throne  of  awful  splendor, 
And  a  seraph  sternly  writes  a  word 

No  language  of  earth  can  render. 


76  MEDLEY. 

THE  BRAVE. 

The  river  hastens  and  glistens. 

(Has  destiny's  stream  a  shore?) 
The   weary  voyager  listens, 

And  hears  the  cataract's  roar. 

The  foam  is  flashing  and  leaping, 
But  strongly  he  rows  for  life. 

(Ah,  who  can  think  without  weeping 
Of  many  a  hopeless  strife?) 

The  banks  are  luscious  and  glowing 
With  flowers  and  flowery  breath; 

The  vines  their  fruitage  are  showing 
To  him  who  wrestles  with  death. 

The  woodland  carols  and  twitters 
Bravuras  from  every  limb ; 

The  whole  earth  warbles  and  glitters 
With  gladness  for  all  but  him. 

The  paddles  qui-ver — they  shiver ! 

But  nothing  may  shake  a  chief ; 
He  yields  his  life  to  the  river, 

But  conquers  terror  and  grief. 

His  robe  around  him  he  gathers, 
Defying  his  howling  grave, 

And  chants  the  dirge  of  his  fathers, 
And  dies  the  death  of  a  brave. 


TALES    AND    BALLADS.  77 

So  let  me  face  the  disaster 

That  ravens  beneath  my  prow. 
Affronting  woe  as  a  master 

And  plunging  with  changeless  brow. 

THE   PILGRIM. 

Afar,  above  sorrow  and  peril, 

He  sees  the  Bright  City  unfold 
Its  walls  of  sardonyx  and  beryl, 

Of  chrysoprase,  jacinth  and  gold, 
Its  galaxied  turrets  and  portals, 

Its  glories  that  never  grow  dim, 
While,  crowning  its  splendor,  immortals 

Wave  welcome,  a  welcome  to  him. 

Below  him,  he  watches  the  regions 

Of  death  and  the  shadow  of  death ; 
He  hears  the  oncoming  of  legions 

Who  threaten  with  flamings  for  breath ; 
Behind  them  Hell  luridly  lightens. 

The  smoke  of  its  torment  ascends  ; 
But  calmly  his  armor  he  tightens 

And  swiftly  to  battle  descends. 

Thus  doeth  the  valiant  pure-hearted, 

The  lofty,  the  leader  of  men ; 
Thus  vanquished  the  noble  departed 

Wrhose  trophies  remain  to  our  ken ; 
They  blenched  not  for  labor  or  sorrow ; 

They  charged,  though  Avernus  might  glow. 
Then  so  let  me  meet  my  to-morrow. 

Though  bucklered  and  cuirassed  with  woe. 


78  MEDLEY. 

THE   DEMON'S   STORY. 

Now  hearken  !   derided  the  devil 
(Buffoon  of  the  powers  of  air)  ; 

I  wearied  of  tempting  the  evil, 
I  wearied  of  vexing  despair; 

I  hardly  arrived  for  the  revel ; 

I  flew,  but  the  mourning  was  there. 

Then  cycle  on  cycle  I  waited 

For  one  who  was  joyous  and  pure; 

With  mortals  uncounted  I  mated, 
Aye  searching  for  happiness  sure ; 

For  innocence  such  as  I  hated, 
To  practice  my  torture  or  lure. 

I  found  him,  the  raptured,  the  holy, 
The  man  without  trespass  or  tear ; 

His  visage  was  loving  and  lowly, 
His  eyes  beheld  Paradise  near ; 

But  slowly  his  breathing  fell;  slowly 
His  riven  heart  reddened  a  spear. 

THE   DARK    COMRADE. 

Through  days  of  enigma  and  sorrow 
(From  doubt  and  dejection  unscreened), 

Through  vigils  that  dreaded  the  morrow 
(Ah,  never  a  star  intervened!), 

I  walked  with  the  friend  of  my  bosom, 
And  that  friend  was  a  mournful  fiend. 


TALES    AND    BALLADS.  79 

For  years  we  were  pilgrims  united; 

Oh,  strange  were  those  otherworld  years ! 
We  darkled  like  goblins  affrighted, 

We  whispered  of  perils  and  tears; 
Yes,  terrible  friend  of  my  bosom, 

Thou  sharedst  my  anguish  and  fears. 

Long  since  that  companion  departed; 

I  know  not  the  wherefore  nor  when. 
Henceforth  I  was  humaner  hearted, 

And  herded  and  labored  with  men; 
Yet  often,  dark  friend  of  my  bosom, 

I  would  change  the  Now  for  the  Then. 

Yea  more !    I  would  greet  thee  with  gladness 

And  nevermore  part  from  thy  side ; 
Would  follow  thee,  Shadow  of  madness, 

\Yherever  thy  moaning  may  guide; 
Yea,  follow  thee,  friend  of  my  bosom, 

Though  seraphim  beckon  and  chide. 

CALENTURE. 

She  came;  she  was  my  father's  child; 

She  bore  my  mother's  guise. 
She  came ;  a  cunning  fiend  beguiled ; 

They  dazed  each  other's  eyes. 
The  joy  that  on  my  bridal  smiled 

Fell  swiftly  from  the  skies. 

I  heard  them  parting  in  the  night; 

Three  hearts  together  bled 
If  ever  woman  pitied  wight, 


SO  MEDLEY. 

I  pitied  him  who  plead ; 
If  ever  maid  won  crown  of  light, 
She  won  it  well  who  fled. 

But  since,  a  darkness  covers  all, 
The  sun  no  more  will  shine; 

Dim  phantoms  flit  along  the  wall, 
Low  incantations  whine ; 

Unearthly  creatures  weave  a  pall, 
And  whisper  it  is  mine. 

THE  PLAYTHING  SKY. 

Where  do  the  children  fly 
When  they  are  dreaming? 

Straight  to  the  Plaything  Sky, 
Soaring  and  beaming. 

Over  the  Wonder  Sea 
Sparkle  the  darlings, 

Clapping  their  hands  with  glee, 
Singing  like  starlings. 

Wonderful  lands  appear, 

Wonderful  cities; 
Wonderful  talk  they  hear, 

Wonderful  ditties. 

Squirrels  come  out  to  them, 
Butterflies  sing  to  them, 

Guinea-pigs  shout  to  them, 
Tulip-bells  ring  to  them. 


TALES    AND    BALLADS.  8 1 

Hosts  of  tin  soldier  men 

Wave  their  tin  banners, 
Candy-wigged   aldermen 

Make  their  wigged  manners. 

Gingerbread  gentles  whack 

Gingerbread  ponies  ; 
Sugarstick  ladies  smack 

Sugarstick  cronies. 

Sitting  in  royal  state, 

Counting  her  tea  things, 
Giggles  the  little-great 

Queen  of  the  playthings. 

Manikin  troopers  stand 

Round  her  wee  palace ; 
Manikin  maidens  hand 

Cream-pot  and  chalice. 

Wooden  horns  clamor  out, 

"Children  are  coming" ; 
Wooden  drums  hammer  out 

Welcome  becoming. 

Down  trips  her  majesty. 

Smiling  and  kissing; 
Roundabout  busses  she, 

Not  a  child  missing. 

Then  to  her  regal  hall 

Kindly  she  leads  them ; 
Gives  them  her  playthings  all, 

Aprons  and  feeds  them. 


MEDLEY. 

Gaily  the  children  play, 

Chatter  and  simper; 
Then,  of  a  sudden,  they 

Wake  up  and  whimper. 

Where  is  the  Plaything  Queen? 

Where  are  her  treasures? 
Gone  to  the  Neverseen — 

Gone,  like  earth's  pleasures. 

THE    FASTIDIOUS    GOBLIN. 

There  was  an  imp  of  Endor, 

Eternities  gone  by, 
Who  saw  the  Lord  of  Splendor 

Create  his  starry  sky. 

He  saw  the  great  suns  stealing 
From  nothing  and  from  night, 

The  worlds  begin  their  wheeling, 
The  comets  take  their  flight. 

The  mighty,  mingled  forces 
Suffused  creation's  frame; 

Along  the  astral  courses 

Throbbed  motion,  heat  and  flame. 

The  galaxies  went  singing 
Adown  their  wondrous  ways ; 

The  universe  was'  ringing 

With  gladness  and  with  praise. 


TALES    AND    BALLADS.  83 

Then  boasted  Master  Goblin 

He  too  would  make  a  sphere, 
And  straight  began  his  cobbling, 

And  wrought  perchance  a  year. 

But  nothing  could  he  fashion ; 

Xo  world  for  him  might  be: 
He  lacked  the  godlike  passion; 

Creative  love  lacked  he. 

His  work  had  neither  motion, 
Nor  light,  nor  form,  nor  grace — 

A  wreck  on  being's  ocean, 
A  blur  on  glory's  face. 

So,  seeing  that  no  creature 

Of  his  might  thread  the  skies, 
He  throned  himself  as  teacher, 

And  dared  to  criticise. 

He  called  the  comets  crazy. 

The  systems  badly  massed ; 
The  Milky  \\ay  was  hazy. 

The  suns  were  overcast. 

The  plan  was  accidental, 

The  start  foretold  the  close, 
The  tone  was  sentimental, 

The  scenes  lacked  Greek  repose. 

In  nature  all  was  lacking, 

And  lacking  too  in  art ; 
A  little  wholesome  hacking 

Would  better  every  part. 


84  MEDLEY. 

The  motives  should  be  fewer, 
The  aim  more  pure  and  high ; 

And  any  good  reviewer 
Could  make  a  better  sky. 

Or,  if  he  praised,  'twas  only 
The  dimmest  of  the  host ; 

The  great  orbs  shining  lonely 
Were  those  he  flouted  most. 

And,  ever  since,  his  mission 
Has  been  to  blame  and  sneer, 

Consigning   to  perdition 

The  lights  God  holdeth  dear; 

The  first,  the  greatest  critic, 

The  model  of  his  kind, 
The  goblin  analytic 

Who  hates  creative  mind. 

THE    OLD    KNIGHT    AND    THE    DAMOZEL. 


I  think  these  limbs  are  strong  again, 
These  scanty  locks  are  newly  brown ; 

In  thought  I  mount  my  steed  amain 
And  ride  afar  for  her  renown. 

In  dusty  lists,  where  trumpets  blare, 
I  quell  the  dourest  knights  that  live, 

And  crown  her  queen  of  beauty  there, 
And  kiss  the  glove  she  bends  to  give. 


TALES    AND    BALLADS.  83 

I  sail  afar  'neath  orient  stars, 

Climb  terraced  slopes  of  Palestine, 
Shout  Agnes  through  the  helmet  bars, 

And  break  the  Paynim's  turbaned  line. 

I  carry  slaughter  through  the  tents, 
I  stain  with  blood  the  Kedron's  tide ; 

I  mount  the  holy  battlements, 

And  aye  for  her  I  strike  and  ride. 

Thou  fair  and  noble  Damozel, 

Thy  name  shall  be  my  battle-cry 
In  joust  and  storm  and  charging  mell. 

Wherever  knight  may  do  or  die. 


ii 

He  summoned  archer,  squire  and  steed, 
He  pledged  anew  his  lordly  wealth; 

Then  raised  a  golden  cup  of  mead, 
And,  ere  he  mounted,  drank  her  health. 

Alas,  O  loving  heart  and  pure ! 

The  light  is  fading  from  his  eyes ; 
And  sighing,  "Agnes,  reine  d' Amour !" 

He  drinks  to  her,  but  drinking  dies. 

And  where  was  she? — In  castle  hall 
She  danced  to  pipe  and  dulcimer: 

She  knew  not  anything  at  all 

Of  him  who  dying  drank  to  her. 


86 


MEDLEY. 


Ill 

In  the  Golden  City. 

The  Old  Knight: 

0  Lord,  thou  knowest  what  befell 
That  latest  love  thou  grantedst  me 

While  I  was  living.     Was  it  well 
To  quench  it  as  it  'gan  to  be? 

The  Lord: 

'Twas  well.     No  rosebud  damozel 

Can  bloom  aright  on  blighted  tree ; 
And  time  it  was  for  thee  to  see 

The  mansions  where  my  good  knights  dwell. 

The  Old  Knight: 

1  thank  thee,  Lord,  I  worship  Thee; 
Thy  grace  is  more  than  tongue  can  tell. 

But,  one  last  favor,  Lord !  will  she, 
My  love,  betide  to  Heaven  or  Hell? 

Chorus: 

He  loved  a  rosebud  maiden, 

The  knight  of  silver  hair; 
And  never  a  saint  in  Aidenn 

Will  seem  to  him  so  fair ; 
And,  be  it  in  Hell  or  Aidenn, 

He  hopes  to  find  her  there. 


TALES  AND  BALLADS.  8/ 

THE   VANISHED    CASTLE. 

I  tread  the  site  of  the  castle 

Where  dwelt  my  fathers  of  yore ; 
The  castle,  the  lords  and  the  ladies 

Have  vanished  forevermore. 

Yet  the  magian  hour  refashions 

Moat,  portcullis  and  hall, 
Where  phantoms  grovel  in  donjon, 

Or  revel  in  blazoned  wall ; 

Where,  clutching  a  dizzy  turret. 

A  damozel  kneels  to  pray. 
Her  wet  eyes  chasing  a  rider, 

In  armor,  glinting  away. 

Hubert  and  Hugh  and  Walter, 

Agnes.  Matilde,  Isabeau, 
They  see  me,  they  beckon — but  sudden 

They  are  whirled  to  the  long-ago. 

The  villagers,  gathering  round  me. 

My  name  and  race  demand : 
Then  ask  with  a  stare  of  terror, 

"Comest  thou  back  for  the  land?" 

The  query  commingles  the  ages  : — 

Who  am  I,  friends,  but  he 
Hubertus,  the  old  crusader 

Who  fell  bv  the  Tvrian  sea? 


88  MEDLEY. 

NlFFER. 

I  delve  in  the  temple  of  Niffer, 
The  town  that  Cannes  planned 

Ages  ere  Babylon  lifted 

Her  towers  in  Nebo's  land. 

The  levels  of  Accad  and  Shinar 
Around  me  glimmer  and  steam ; 

And  I  swoon  in  the  quivering  slumber 
Of  fever ;  and  madly  I  dream. 

O  copperhued  spademen  of  Accad, 
Why  do  you  bellow  for  gold? 

Backsheesh  is  the  cry  of  the  living; 
And  you  went  to  Sheol  of  old. 

A  myriad  moons  before  Nimrod 

You  tickled  these  plains  with  the  hoe, 

You  walled  and  turreted  Niffer, 
You  routed  the  Kings  of  the  Bow. 

But  now  you  are  dead  as  Merodach, 
And  I  am  as  dead  as  you; 

So  let  us  shovel,  O  brothers, 
To  bury  each  other  anew. 


TALES  AND  BALLADS. 

THE   OLD-TIME   PEOPLE. 

I  cruised  with  Sindbad  the  Sailor 
When  this  old  world  was  new ; 

We  entered  ship  at  Bassora 
And  down  the  Tigris  flew. 

We  traversed  the  Gulf  of  Ormus, 

Where  chanting  Peris  roam, 
And  Mermen  abide  in  cities 

Beneath  the  whispering  foam. 

We  coasted  the  shore  of  spices. 

The  incense-breathing  capes ; 
And  we  reached  the  marvellous  island 

Where  dwell  the  Manlike  Apes. 

But  what  those  Eldermen  told  me 

I  never  dared  rehearse, 
Lest  mollah  and  mufti  and  softa 

Should  clench  their  fists  and  curse. 

LOCHINVAR     IX     THE     SOUTH. 

Oh,  young  Lochinvar  is  around  in  the  South ! 
He  has  plenty  of  muscle  and  plenty  of  mouth ; 
Through  all  the  Tar  Country  his  gun  is  the  best, 
And  his  knife  is  plumb  ready  inside  of  his  vest. 

He  rides  a  grey  courser  of  Messenger  breed ; 
The  turpentine  forest  resounds  to  his  speed ; 
He  minds  not  the  painter's  cantankerous  squeals 
And  the  moccasins  waggle  in  vain  at  his  heels. 


9O  MEDLEY. 

There's  a  castle  of  joyance  on  Wilmington  Bay 
Where  lovers  and  ladies  dance  night  into  day  ; 
Each  gent  at  that  shindig  is  valiatit  and  tall, 
And  rifles  by  dozens  stand  loaded  in  hall. 

But  young  Lochinvar  romps  up  to  the  gate, 
Unheeding  of  aught  but  of  being  too  late  ; 
He  kicks  the  hounds  outen,  wades  into  the  swim, 
And  scowls  at  those  suitors,  all  scowling  at  him. 

"I've  nothing  'gainst  you  'uns,"  says  young  Loch- 

invar  ; 

"Just  hold  up  your  flippers  and  stand  as  you  are  ; 
There's  a  lady  I  want  here,  a  tailor-made  dame, 
And  Imogen  Bill  is  her  idolized  name." 

He  pranced  through  the  revel,  he  swarmed  for  that 


He  gave  her  a  cinch  and  he  gave  her  a  whirl. 
She  gurgled  a  gasp,  but  she  couldn't  gasp  "No"  ; 
And  right  down  the  middle  they  waltzed  for  the 
"do'." 

There  was  mounting  in  haste  among  Wilmington 

squires  ; 

A  mile  in  a  minute  they  scored  on  their  flyers  ; 
They  hummed  over  level  and  valley  and  hill, 
But  they  found  not  a  symptom  of  Imogen  Bill. 

Beside  the  French  Broad,  there's  a  palace  of  logs, 
Surrounded  by  mashes  and  furnished  with  dogs, 
Where  Lochinvar  sits  on  a  catamount's  hide, 
And  watches  for  rivals,  and  watches  his  bride. 


TALES    AND    BALLADS.  9! 

With  deerkiller  ready  and  courser  and  whip, 
He  watches  her  constant  for  fear  she  may  skip ; 
He  watches  Carliny  from  mountain  to  shore ; 
And  Imogen  needs  all  his  watching,  and  more. 


JUDGE    BOODLE. 

A  congressman  Judge  Boodle  was, 

A  cunning  chief  in  caucus, 
Unversed  in  statesmanship  and  laws, 

But  able  to  out-talk  us. 

To  Boodle  came  a  lady  fair, 
In  rich  and  radiant  raiment, 

Whose  coaxing  smile  and  lovelorn  air 
Betokened  her  a  claimant. 

"My  name,"  she  sighed,  "is  Edith  Jane 
Van  Tromp  de  Duval  Bates,  sir: 

And  I  am  of  the  noblest  strain 
In  these  United  States,  sir. 

"My  father's  sires  in  days  of  old 

Led  armies  forth  to  battle ; 
My  mother's  kin  had  stores  of  gold 

And  lands  and  countless  cattle. 

"But  cruel  Time  brought  dark  reverse. 

Alas !  the  sad  confession ! 
A  claim  against  Columbia's  purse 

Is  now  my  sole  possession. 


92  MEDLEY. 

"To  battle  rode  George  Washington 
Upon  my  grandsire's  courser, 

And  when  the  victory  was  won 
The  courser  was  no  more,  sir. 

"That  faithful  steed  had  borne  our  race 

In  saddle,  chaise  and  pillion ; 
My  father  never  saw  his  face, 

But  called  him  worth  a  million. 

"And  now,  my  gracious  friend,  display 
The  skill  you  oft  have  shown  us ; 

Bring  in  a  noble  claim,  and  pay 
Your  labors  with  a  bonus. 

"Nor  will  I  promise  pelf  alone; 

This  heart — my  courage  falters — 
A  woman's  grateful  heart  shall  throne 

Your  image  on  its  altars." 

John  Boodle  shed  a  manly  tear 

To  see  that  lady's  sorrow; 
Then  squeezed  her  hand,  and  said,  "My  dear, 

I'll  mount  that  horse  to-morrow. 

"I  know  my  fellow  congressmen 
Will  back  a  righteous  measure ; 

And  now,  my  Edith  Jane, — or  then, — 
Be  thou  my  life-long  treasure." 

She  chided  not,  nor  drew  aside, 
But  leaned  her  drooping  tresses 

Against  his  heaving  heart,  and  sighed, 
"I'll  pay  you  in  caresses." 


TALES    AXD    BALLADS.  93 

So  Boodle  every  wire  did  pull, 

Rolled  logs  with  all  creation, 
And  piped  our  glorious  Capitol 

To  push  his  legislation. 

Another  tax  !  another  loan  ! 

The  syndicates  made  honey ; 
The  people  drained  out,  groan  by  groan, 

John  Boodle's  darling's  money. 

Then  Edith  Jane  de  Duval  Bates 

Invited  to  her  wedding 
The  lobbyists  of  all  the  states 

That  paid  her  plate  and  bedding. 

They  came  and  bowed ;   the  nuptial  knot 

Was  tied ;  the  time  went  cheery : 
And  not  a  knave  or  fool  or  sot 

But'  envied  John  his  deary.  . 

Till  midnight,  revel  swelled  apace ; 

Till  midnight,  danced  the  lady. 
But  when  the  clock  struck  twelve,  her  face 

Fell  strangely  weird  and  shady. 

"Away !  away !"  she  wildly  cried. 

"No  need  of  wedding  coaches ! 
One  beast  will  carry  groom  and  bride ; 

And  swiftly  he  approaches." 

Then  galloped  creaking  to  the  door 

That  steed  of  legislation 
Who  nobly  died  in  days  of  yore 

To  rise  and  munch  the  nation. 


94  MEDLEY. 

John  Boodle  scarcely  caught  his  breath, 
And  pallid  turned  all  faces, 

To  see  that  grinning  horse  of  death 
Curvet  and  show  his  paces. 

The  lady  clapped  an  iron  grip 
Upon  the  bridegroom,  saying, 

"Away !  begin  your  wedding  trip ! 
The  crisis  grants  no  staying." 

Oh,  gladly  had  the  Judge  delayed 
Another  hour !   till  supper ! 

She  mounted,  beckoned;   he  obeyed, 
And  scrambled  to  the  crupper. 

One  arm  around  his  wife  he  threw, 
Much  longing  for  a  saddle ; 

And  then  away,  away,  they  flew 
As  fast  as  Hell  could  straddle. 

The  bridal  feasters  howled  with  fright, 
The  bridegroom  bellowed  louder ; 

But  naught  availed ;  adown  the  night 
He  darted,  quick  as  powder. 

He  clutched  his  frightful  charger's  bones 
To  save  himself  from  falling, 

And  rode  with  many  twists  and  groans, 
For  fearful  was  the  mauling. 

Between  the  yellow  ribs,  the  air 
Sucked  rawly  with  a  whistle; 

He  looked  behind,  no  tail  was  there 
Except  a  point  of  gristle. 


TALES    AND    BALLADS.  95 

Grim  riders  joined  them,  fearful  things, 

Bent  warlocks,  withered  witches, 
Some  scaling  high  on  wilted  wings, 

Some  shooting  low  on  switches. 

"Hurrah !  hurrah !"  the  wizards  bawled ; 

''Judge  Boodle  leads  the  rabble." 
"'Push  on !  push  on !"  the  witches  squalled  ; 

"What  fun  to  see  him  scrabble!" 

At  last,  afar,  yet  drawing  nigh, 
He  spied  that  monstrous  scorcher, 

The  lake  of  Eblis  burning  high, 
The  red  abyss  of  torture. 

He  strove  to  coax,  he  strove  to  chide, 
He  clamored  hoarse  and  hoarser ; 

But  nothing  recked  his  fearful  bride, 
And  nothing  checked  his  courser. 

The  steed  became  a  shooting  star, 

The  wife  became  a  devil ; 
And  on  they  sped,  the  swiftest  far 

Of  all  the  hell-bound  revel. 

He  reached  the  lake,  and  leaped,  and  lit, 

A  flashing,  ashing  ember ! 
Xo  more  in  Washington  may  sit 

And  spout  and  steal  our  member. 


96  MEDLEY. 

THE  CANNIBAL  CONQUEST. 

The  king  of  the  Cannibal  Islands 

Decided  to  conquer  some  drylands ; 

So  he  marched  over  valleys  and  highlands 

With  twenty- four  cannibal  braves ; 

With  two  dozen  man-eating  knaves, 

All  hungry  as  so  many  graves, 
He  skirmished  through  earthlands  and  skylands, 

Defiant  of  weather  and  waves. 

He  came  to  Atlantis  the  Holy 

Whose  burghers  were  lamblike  and  lowly, 

Though  growing  a  touch  roly-poly 

And  languid  in  fasting  and  prayers. 

They  fasted  while  sleeping,  like  bears, 

And  prayed  without  leaving  their  chairs, 
And  walked  in  the  narrow  way  slowly, 

Much  cumbered  with  Beelzebub's  wares. 

Then  followed  a  wonderful  battle; 
Good  lack,  how  the  cannons  did  rattle ! 
The  women,  the  children,  the  cattle 

Took  part  in  the  desperate  strife. 

They  carried  the  war  to  the  knife ; 

With  slaughter  Atlantis  was  rife; 
About  it  the  muses  will  prattle 

While  Jupiter  granteth  them  life. 

The  Cannibals  came  out  the  winners, 
They  made  twenty-five  hearty  dinners, 
They  gobbled  the  saints  and  the  sinners, 
And  put  all  Atlantis  to  sack. 


TALES    AND    BALLADS.  97 

They  spared  neither  yellow  nor  black, 
The  hungriest,  greediest  pack 
Of  robbers  and  pickers  and  skinners 
That  ever  sent  region  to  rack. 

Henceforth  they  were  chiefs  of  the  nation 
And  lived  by  relief  legislation ; 
They  served  up  a  bill  for  collation 

And  fattened  a  law  like  a  beast. 

Their  appetites  daily  increased ; 

A  lunch  was  a  patent,  at  least, 
While  railroads  and  steam-navigation 

Scarce  furnished  the  joints  for  a  feast. 


PALESTINA 


P  ALESTINA 


THE    BATTLE    OF    THE    KINGS. 

Chedorlaomer  of  Elam, 

The  eldest  of  conquering  kings, 
Established  a  mighty  empire 

In  the  grey  beginning  of  things ; 
In  the  plain  of  the  four  great  rivers 

That  come  from  fountains  unknown, 
In  the  paradise  realm  of  Babel, 

He  set  and  established  his  throne. 

Beside  him  thundered  in  battle, 

And  beside  him  reveled  at  feast. 
Three  monarchs  who  did  him  homage 

For  ancient  domains  in  the  east, 
The  king  of  the'land  of  Shinar, 

And  the  king  of  Ellasar's  land, 
And  Tidal  king  of  the  tribesmen 

Who  wander  the  southern  sand. 

In  the  days  of  our  father  Abram 
These  four  took  counsel  to  smite 

The  citied  vale  of  the  Jordan 
And  the  hills  of  the  Amorite ; 


IO2  PALESTINA. 

They  gathered  their  tufted  lances, 
They  gathered  their  crescent  bows, 

And  quitted  the  templed  valley 
Where  arrowy  Hiddekel  flows. 

Athwart  the  mid-river  desert 

They  spread  their  locust  wings; 
Devouring  the  green  oases 

And  drinking  a-dry  the  springs; 
Devouring  the  shepherd  nomads 

And  the  smiths  who  dwell  in  caves ; 
Devouring  the  trains  of  merchants, 

And  leaving  behind  but  graves. 

The  eastward  border  of  Bashan 

They  harried  with  bow  and  spear ; 
They  smote  the  giant  Rephaim 

And  the  Horite  dwellers  in  Seir; 
The  Zuzim,  sons  of  the  giants, 

And  the  Emim  of  Kiriathaim ; 
Yea,  all  the  valley  of  Jordan 

They  reddened  with  blood  and  flame. 

So  warring  bitterly  onward 

And  filling  the  earth  with  wail, 
They  came  to  the  Dead  Sea  cities, 

The  towns  of  the  bitumen  vale, 
The  cities  Gomorrah  and  Sodom, 

Renowned  in  cycles  of  old 
For  music  and  dance  and  revel, 

And  for  treasure  of  silver  and  gold. 


THE    BATTLE    OF   THE    KINGS.  1 03 

Now  Birsha,  king  of  Gomorrah, 

Held  feast  in  his  tower  of  pride 
With  Bera  tyrant  of  Sodom 

And  many  a  chief  beside; 
The  table  sparkled  with  goblets 

Wrought  by  the  Canaanite, 
And  the  goblets  bubbled  over 

With  wine  of  amber  light. 

The  dancers  and  dancing  women, 

With  wantoning  smile  and  glance, 
Wound  slowly  adown  the  mazes 

Of  Ashteroth's  wicked  dance; 
While  harp  and  organ  and  cymbal 

And  dulcimer  poured  their  glee, 
For  the  sons  of  Jubal  were  cunning 

In  lands  of  the  bitumen  sea. 

But  right  in  the  midst  of  the  joyance 

A  whimpering  reached  the  hall, 
As  though  the  city  Gomorrah 

Were  wailing  already  its  fall ; 
And  heralds  shouted  to  Birsha 

That  Kadesh  was  flaming  high, 
And  that  up  from  the  southland  desert 

Chedorlaomer  drew  nigh. 

Then  leaped  up  Birsha  and  Bera 

With  faces  like  withered  leaves, 
Forsaking  the  brimming  goblets, 

The  flesh  of  sheep  and  of  beeves ; 


IO4  PALESTINA. 

They  called  for  helmet  and  buckler, 
For  javelin,  brand  and  bow, 

And  swiftly  through  scared  Gomorrah 
They  hasted  to  meet  the  foe; 

Commanding  heralds  to  summon 

Their  allies,  the  king  of  Zoar, 
And  the  kings  of  Zeboim  and  Admah, 

Five  kings  to  battle  with  four ; 
Commanding  also  to  rally 

And  marshal  their  native  powers, 
And  to  set  the  phalanx  of  battle 

In  front  of  Gomorrah's  towers. 

Thereon,  in  the  vale  of  Siddim ; 

In  the  vale  of  the  marvellous  mere, 
Where  now  the  apples  are  ashes 

And  the  birds  soar  high  in  fear ; 
In  the  rich,  hot  Dead  Sea  valley 

The  clamor  of  war  began, 
The  shock  of  nation  with  nation, 

The  wrestle  of  man  with  man. 

Long  wravered  the  balance  even, 

Four  kings  in  battle  with  five; 
For  long  did  the  brazen  tempest 

Both  forward  and  backward  drive; 
For  the  men  of  the  stranger  peoples 

Were  valiant  and  trained  to  strife, 
While  the  men  of  the  Siddim  cities 

Were  fighting  for  land  and  life. 


THE    BATTLE    OF    THE    KINGS.  1 05 

At  last  the  chief  of  the  spoilers, 

Chedorlaomer  the  strong, 
Smote  Birsha,  king  of  Gomorrah, 

With  an  arrow  weighty  and  long, 
That  clove  his  glittering  harness 

And  pierced  his  wicked  heart. 
On  one  side  trembling  the  feather, 

On  one  side  gleaming  the  dart. 

Thereon  the  sheikhs  of  the  city, 

Beholding  their  chieftain  fall, 
Tottered  and  tumbled  asunder 

Like  stones  of  a  battered  wall ; 
While,  smitten  with  menial  terror, 

The  common  herd  turned  to  fly, 
None  fearing  to  stain  his  manhood, 

But  only  fearing  to  die. 

Then  Tidal,  king  of  the  Xomads, 

Led  on  his  mingled  breeds, 
And  parted  the  ranks  of  Sodom 

As  a  lion  parts  Jordan's  reeds ; 
The  rush  of  his  swarthy  archers 

Was  like  a  hurricane's  breath, 
And  the  serpent  hiss  of  their  arrows 

Fulfilled  the  noontide  with  death. 

Back  reeled  the  Sodomite  bucklers, 

King  Shinab  fell  in  his  gore, 
Back  trembled  the  spear  of  Admah, 

The  sword  of  Zeboim  and  Zoar, 


IO6  PALESTINA. 

Till,  smitten  at  every  footstep, 

The  men  of  the  valley  fled, 
With  ear  turned  over  the  shoulder 

To  hear  the  pursuer's  tread. 

The  bitumen  pits  of  Siddim 

Were  choked  with  wounded  and  slain, 
And  the  yellow  ripples  of  Jordan 

Bore  many  a  crimson  stain. 
Right  through  the  gates  of  the  cities 

The  torrent  of  battle  roared, 
And  tower  and  temple  and  palace 

Re-echoed  the  clank  of  the  sword. 

The  carven  and  molten  idols 

Saved  not  their  worshippers  then, 
And  the  heathen  altars  were  dabbled 

With  the  blood  of  heathenish  men, 
While  hither  and  yon  the  spoilers 

Ran,  gathering  wealth  untold. 
Of  armor  and  goodly  garments 

And  graven  silver  and  gold. 

Then  perished  the  wise  in  counsel, 

And  perished  the  strong  in  war, 
While  the  youths  and  maidens  were  herded 

And  driven  to  serve  afar ; 
Yea,  only  a  feeble  remnant 

A  remnant  goaded  and  pressed, 
Escaped  to  the  arid  mountains 

That  shadowed  the  sunset  west. 


THE    BATTLE    OF    THE    KINGS.  IO/ 

Now  Lot,  the  nephew  of  Abram, 

With  sheep  and  cattle  in  store, 
Wide  feeding  from  mount  to  river, 

Abode  in  the  Siddim  Ghor ; 
In  peace  abode  and  in  plenty 

Till  El  should  punish  his  sin 
Of  strife  with  our  father  Abram, 

The  chief  of  his  clan  and  kin. 

The  patriarch's  beard  was  lifted 

In  prayer  and  his  knees  were  bent. 
When  the  camel-riders  of  Tidal 

Drew  halter  before  his  tent, 
And  leaned  on  their  spears,  awe-stricken, 

Believing  him  half  divine, 
So  august  he  seemed  and  holy, 

And  so  did  his  countenance  shine. 

He  knelt,  but  not  to  the  foeman ; 

He  rose,  but  drew  not  his  sword. 
His  soul  was  bowed  in  contrition: — 

How  should  he  strive  with  the  Lord  ? 
Then  Tidal,  kissing  his  forehead, 

Said,  "Follow,  O  prophet  and  priest; 
And  thou  shalt  serve  at  the  altars 

Of  Bel  in  the  templed  east." 

So  gently  the  spoilers  guided 

The  chief  and  his  daughters  twain, 

His  herders  and  flocks  and  cattle, 
In  honor  along  the  plain ; 


IO8  PALESTINA. 

In  honor  and  fear  they  led  him, 
Yet  suffered  him  not  to  go, 

For  El  had  blinded  their  spirits 
In  order  to  work  them  woe. 

Now  messengers  came  to  Abram, 

Who  held  his  pasture  and  fold 
In  the  country  of  hoary  Hebron, 

By  Hittites  builded  of  old ; 
With  garments  rent  and  with  weeping 

They  told  how  a  stranger  band 
Was  bearing  Lot  and  his  people 

To  Bel  Merodach's  land. 

Then  bowed  the  reverend  ancient. 

He  bowed  and  prayed  in  grief, 
"Now  help  us,  El  of  the  Hebrews; 

Now  guide  us  and  be  our  chief. 
Our  foes  are  many  and  mighty; 

They  deafen  the  earth  with  boasts : 
But  thou  canst  give  us  the  battle, 

For  thou  art  the  Lord  of  Hosts." 

This  said,  his  glittering  falchion 

He  girded  on,  and  then 
Led  eastward  his  valiant  herders, 

Three  hundred  and  eighteen  men, 
With  Aner  and  Eshcol  and  Mamre, 

Three  clans  of  the  Amorite, 
Who  banded  with  him  in  vengeance 

For  kinsmen  slain  in  fight. 


THE    BATTLE    OF    THE    KINGS.  IOO 

They  passed  the  hilltop  of  Jebus, 

Where  Zion  now  lifts  her  wall ; 
They  passed  the  mount  of  Gilboa 

(Since  red  with  the  blood  of  Saul)  ; 
They  entered  the  vale  of  Jordan 

And  forded  the  arrowy  tide ; 
At  last,  in  the  skirts  of  Haran 

The  foeman's  camp  they  spied. 

Its  countless  fires  of  feasting 

Flaunted  an  insolent  glare. 
And  a  clamor  of  drunken  revel 

Blasphemed  through  the  twilit  air, 
The  babble  of  heathen  thousands 

Who  jeered  at  the  captive's  moan. 
And  scoffed  at  the  God  of  Abram, 

And  vaunted  their  idols  of  stone. 

Then  said  the  chief  of  the  Hebrews, 

"God  giveth  them  into  our  hand. 
Divide  ye  quickly,  my  children, 

Each  ancient  leading  his  band. 
Lie  close  till  the  fires  are  feeble ; 

Then  circle  the  Elamite  horde. 
Await  my  summoning  trumpet : 

Then  strike  in  the  might  of  the  Lord." 

In  the  thickest  of  night  the  signal 

Of  Abram  shattered  the  gloom : 
It  roared  through  the  plain  like  a  lion, 

It  scared  like  the  trumpet  of  doom : 


IIO  PALESTINA. 

While  forward  the  ambushers  bounded 
Like  hunters  who  close  on  the  prey, 

And  sought  the  throats  of  the  heathen, 
And  slew  till  the  breaking  of  day. 

Full  many  the  sleepers  who  perished 

Or  ever  they  opened  the  eye, 
Or  wakened  to  gaze  on  the  slayer 

One  terrible  moment,  and  die. 
Oh,  mighty  and  swift  was  the  slaughter ; 

It  ran  and  consumed  like  a  flame. 
The  corpses  were  piled  upon  corpses 

Wherever  the  ambushers  came. 

And  direr  yet  was  the  horror 

When  the  rabble  of  pagans  rose, 
Drowsy  and  stumbling  and  groping, 

To  battle  with  unseen  foes ; 
For  comrade  wrestled  with  comrade 

And  people  with  people  strove, 
While  everywhither,  at  random, 

The  arrows  of  Tidal  drove. 

In  vain  the  shouting  of  captains, 

The  scream  of  trumpets  in  vain ; 
In  vain  the  kings  of  the  nations 

Clamored  and  beckoned  amain ; 
For  the  very  princes  and  nobles 

Recked  not  of  banner  or  crown, 
And  the  soldiers,  maddened  with  panic, 

Went  beating  each  other  down. 


THE    BATTLE    OF    THE    KINGS.  I  I  I 

Yea,  even  the  glow  of  morning 

Redoubled  the  crazed  affright; 
Xo  fugitive  turned  to  chasten 

The  handful  that  gored  the  flight ; 
The  stricken  host  of  the  aliens 

Dissolved  and  vanished  like  dew. 
While  fiercely  our  father  Abram 

Pursued,  made  captive  and  slew. 

Past  snowy  Hermon  he  chased  them 

To  Hobah,  beyond  the  plain 
Where  ancient  Damascus  glitters 

'Mid  olives  and  figs  and  grain. 
He  gathered  the  beeves  and  camels 

That  the  archers  of  Tidal  drave, 
And  dried  the  tears  of  the  orphan, 

And  brake  the  bonds  of  the  slave. 

But,  gladdest  of  all  his  triumphs, 

He  rescued  his  brother's  son, 
His  daughters  and  herders  and  cattle, 

Not  lacking  a  single  one. 
How  beautiful  were  the  kinsmen, 

How  princely  in  mien  and  face, 
When,  weeping,  they  kissed  each  other, 

And  honored  El  for  his  grace! 

So  Abram  returned  in  glory 

The  hero  of  Jordan's  land, 
While  shoutings  of  grateful  peoples 

Resounded  on  everv  hand ; 


112  PALESTINA. 

Wherever  he  fared,  the  elders 
Of  cities  brought  corn  and  wine, 

Bowing  their  heads  and  revering 
The  savior  of  Palestine. 

And  when  to  the  hill  of  Hebron 

His  lordly  journey  drew  nigh, 
Melchizedec,  monarch  of  Salem, 

The  priest  of  the  Great  Most  High, 
Came  forth  to  meet  him  and  greet  him 

With  holy  hands  lifted  in  praise, 
Came  forth  to  caress  him,  and  bless  him 

In  the  name  of  the  Ancient  of  Days. 


JOSEPH. 

Superb  in  viceregal  habiliments, 
With  Pharaoh's  ring  on  his  hand, 

He  stood  in  the  chamber  of  porphyry, 
The  chief  of  the  land. 

Sedate,  like  a  king,  and  yet  tenderly 
He  gazed  in  the  wanderers'  eyes, 

While  meekly  they  bended  and  timidly 
Looked  up  in  surprise. 

His  father,  the  pastures  of  Palestine, 
The  gladness  of  infancy's  years, 

Arose  on  his  vision,  and  suddenly 
He  melted  in  tears. 


DELILAH.  113 

"Behold  me,   the  darling  of   Israel!" 
He  cried.     ''Doth  my  father  yet  live? 

Mourn  not  that  ye  sold  me  in  slavery. 
God  rules.     I  forgive/' 


DELILAH. 

The  lady  of  Sorek,  Delilah, 

^'as  winsome  and  gladsome  as  day; 
She  smiled  on  the  son  of  Manoah 

And  lured  him  to  tread  in  her  way ; 
Her  kisses  were  sweeter  than  honey, 

And  she  could  betray. 

She  flattered  the  hero ;    she  pleaded, 
"Xow  tell  me  where  lieth  thy  might." 

He  told  her.     She  lulled  him  to  slumber, 
And  shredded  his  hair  in  the  night. 

She  opened  the  gate  to  her  kinsmen, 
And  murmured,  "Now  smite!" 

O  daughter  of  aliens  and  strangers, 
What  child  of  Jehovah  may  stand 

Who  joys  in  the  light  of  your  glances 
And  loveth  the  touch  of  your  hand ! 

His  glory  and  gladness  shall  tumble 
Like  houses  on  sand. 


14  PALESTINA. 

GlLBOA. 

When  Saul  was  king  of  Hebrews — 

Alas,  the  heedless  king! — 
Our  land  was  full  of  sorrows, 

Our  strength  a  feeble  thing; 
For  Saul,  the  false  and  fickle, 

Forgot  the  Lord's  command 
To  hold  in  hate  the  heathen 

And  drive  them  from  the  land. 

He  spared  the  life  of  Agag, 

Who  ravaged  Israel's  coasts; 
The  sons  of  cruel  Edom 

Were  captains  in  his  hosts ; 
The  bands  of  thievish  Amalek 

Bare  Ephraim's  lance  and  shield; 
Yea,  many  were  the  aliens 

Who  marched  with  him  afield. 

Because  of  this  his  kingdom 

Was  rent  with  grievous  ills; 
The  hordes  of  gentiles  ravaged 

Our  fruitful  vales  and  hills; 
They  stripped  us  and  disarmed  us 

From  Jordan  to  the  mere ; 
Yea,  scarce  a  man  in  Canaan 

Had  buckler,  brand,  or  spear. 

In  all  those  days  of  battle 

The  fiercest  of  our  foes 
Were  they  who  held  the  seacoast 

That  south  to  Egypt  goes, 


GILBOA.  115 


The  pale  and  tall  Philistim 

Who  came  from  Japheth's  isles, 

The  men  of  brazen  armor 

Who  charged  in  ordered  files. 

O  princes  of  Philistia, 

How  often  have  ye  shed 
The  lifeblood  of  our  warriors 

And  robbed  our  babes  of  bread! 
How  often  have  ye  herded 

Our  gracious  youths  for  slaves, 
And  sold  our  tender  maidens 

Beyond  the  sunset  waves ! 

And  now  again  ye  gather 

To  slaughter  us  like  sheep; 
Your  tents  are  pitched  in  Shunem 

Before  Gilboa's  steep; 
Ye  lift  your  gleaming  bucklers 

Against  a  naked  swarm ; 
And  Israel  sees,  affrighted. 

Your  serried  phalanx  form. 

Yea,  mighty  was  the  terror 

That  shook  our  brothers'  souls ; 
They  lurked  within  Gilboa 

Like  foxes  in  their  holes ; 
The  hireling  braves  of  Amalek 

And  Edom  ceased  to  boast, 
And  even  war-worn  Abner 

Was  whiter  than  a  ghost. 


Il6  PALESTINA. 

In  vain  our  noble  princes, 

The  warrior  sons  of  Saul, 
Went  forth  with  smiling  faces 

And  cheerly  spake  to  all ; 
In  vain  the  valiant  Jonathan, 

The  kingliest  of  the  three, 
Said,  "God  hath  often  helped  us; 

So  wherefore  should  we  flee?" 

No  man  of  those  who  listened 

Could  muster  heart  of  hope ; 
All  eyes  were  set  in  anguish 

On  Shunem's  brazen  slope; 
We  heard  across  the  valley 

The  foe's  defiant  cheer; 
We  saw,  we  heard,  nor  ever  stirred 

The  livelong  day  for  fear. 

Yea,  none  would  leave  the  mountain 

Except  the  light-armed  men ; 
And  they  set  on  but  shyly, 

And  quickly  turned  agen. 
Our  slingers  lurked  in  coverts 

And  cast  with  feeble  throw, 
While  boldly  shot  the  archers 

Who  drew  the  Cretan  bow. 

So  passed  a  day  of  waiting 

While  each  surveyed  the  field, 

The  foe  secure  of  triumph, 
Our  hearts  prepared  to  yield ; 


GILBOA. 

So  passed  a  day  of  skirmish, 
And  when  the  sun  went  down, 

No  heart,  I  think,  was  sadder 
Than  his  who  wore  the  crown. 

He  sought  a  lonely  thicket ; 

He  bowed  his  head  to  earth. 
"O  El!"  he  prayed,  "O  Yahveh, 

Who  gave  the  Hebrews  birth ! 
O  Mighty  One  of  Jacob 

Who  brought  us  from  Misraim ! 
Adoniah  of  battles, 

I  call  upon  Thy  name ! 

"Thou  heedest  not  our  altars. 

Though  rich  with  fat  and  gore : 
Thine  oracles  are  silent, 

Thy  prophets  speak  no  more ; 
And  now  thou  helpest  aliens 

To  drive  us  from  our  place. 
O  Yahveh  of  the  Hebrews, 

Why  hidest  thou  thy  face  ? 

"Once  more  upon  thy  people 

Let  all  thy  mercies  shine ; 
Send  down  some  helping  angel, 

Accord  some  gracious  sign; 
Fulfill  our  hearts  with  valiance, 

Strike  dumb  the  heathens'  boasts 
And  when  we  smite  for  Israel, 

Be  there,  O  Lord  of  Hosts !" 


Il8  PALESTINA. 

He  prayed;  but  naught  responded; 

No  seraph  flew  anear; 
No  brightness  shone  of  Urim ; 

No  prophet  brought  him  cheer; 
And  when  he  sank  in  slumber 

God  sent  him  dreams  abhorred : 
He  woke  and  cried  in  anguish, 

"I  cannot  find  the  Lord." 

He  rose;   he  changed  his  vesture; 

He  laid  his  crown  aside ; 
He  called  his  heathen  henchmen, 

And  through  the  night  he  hied. 
"I  go  to  seek  the  wizards," 

He  muttered,  mad  with  grief; 
"There  was  a  God  in  Shiloh, 

But  he  is  dead  or  deaf." 

He  rode ;   he  came  to  Endor, 

Where  dwelt  a  withered  crone 
Who  ruled  familiar  demons 

And  showed  the  things  unknown, — 
An  evil  crone  who  worshipped 

The  gods  of  olden  days 
When  giants  reared  the  temples 

Ye  find  in  desert  ways.* 

The  sky  was  hung  with  blackness, 

No  aster  pierced  the  night; 
Yet  far  away  her  cabin 

Revealed  a  spectral  light, — 

*  Dolmens,  menhirs  and  stone  circles  still  exist  in  Palestine, 
especially  in  Gilead  and  Bashan. 


GILBOA.  I  19 


A  light  like  that  which  glimmers 
From  wood  of  mouldered  trees, 

A  light  like  that  which  chases 
The  galley  through  the  seas. 

He  won  the  door  and  entered, 

Yet  found  no  taper  there, 
Nor  ever  knew  what  lustre 

It  was  that  rayed  the  air. 
He  stood  with  covered  visage: 

The  beldame  rose  in  dread. 
"Why  comest  thou?"  she  queried. 

"On  thee  be  peace!"  he  said. 

"Fear  not,  O  cunning  woman. 

No  man  shall  do  thee  harm. 
I  come  to  seek  the  spirits 

Thou  knowest  how  to  charm. 
Now  use  thy  divinations, 

However  weird  they  be, 
And  summon  him  from  Sheol 

Whom  I  shall  name  to  thee." 

She  answered,  "Lo,  thou  kennest 

What  Saul  the  king  hath  done, 
How  he  hath  slain  my  brethren, 

The  wizards,  every  one. 
Of  all  who  loved  the  demons 

No  creature  lives  but  I. 
Now  wherefore  dost  thou  purpose 

A  snare  to  make  me  die?" 


I2O  PALESTINA. 

"As  El  of  Israel  liveth," 

Replied  the  woful  king, 
No  hurt  shall  come  upon  thee 

For  this  or  anything. 
Now  therefore  speak  the  syllables 

That  even  death  can  hear, 
And  call  the  awful  spirit 

Of  Samuel,  the  Seer." 

Her  evil  spells  she  muttered, 

She  wrought  her  magic  might; 
Then  suddenly  she  uttered 

A  cry  of  great  affright. 
"Why  seekest  thou,"    she  clamored, 

"To  lure  me  to  my  fall  ? 
No  common  mortal  art  thou. 

I  know  thee;    thou  art  Saul." — 

"Be  not  afraid,"   he  bade  her; 

"What  thing  beholdest  thou?"— 
"I  see  the  gods  ascending 

From  earth,"    she  said.     "And  now 
I  see  behind  them  follow 

An  elder  bent  with  years, 
Whose  mantle  hides  his  visage, 

As  is  the  wont  of  seers." 

Then  quickly  bowed  the  monarch, 

He  bowed  upon  his  face, 
For  well  he  knew  the  prophet, 

And  much  he  craved  his  grace. 


GILBOA.  I  2  I 


Alas,  the  king  of  sorrows! 

How  bitter  was  his  dole 
When  sternly  said  the  awful  dead, 

"Why  troublest  thou  my  soul?" 

"Forgive  me,  O  my  father!" 

Returned  the  stricken  chief. 
"The  grave's  repose  is  sacred, 

But  sacred  too  is  grief. 
I  dared  to  vex  thy  slumber 

Because  our  need  is  sore, 
For  Israel's  foes  are  mighty 

And  Yahveh  helps  no  more. 

"The  legions  of  Philistim 

Have  gathered  like  a  flood; 
To-morrow  morn  the  battle 

Will  roll  its  robes  in  blood; 
Our  breasts  are  bare  of  harness, 

Our  bravest  are  dismayed, 
And  Jacob's  stem  will  perish 

Unless  the  Lord  shall  aid. 

"In  vain  I  seek  his  visage, 

In  vain  my  altars  rise; 
He  answers  not  by  Urim, 

Nor  dreams,  nor  prophesies  ; 
Wherefore,  thou  mighty  phantom, 

I  dare  to  break  thy  sleep, 
And  ask  how  Ephraim's  shepherd 

May   save   his   feeble   sheep." 


122  PALESTINA. 

Then  said  the  seer  of  Sheol, 

"Why  comest  thou  to  me? 
If  God  refuse  his  guidance, 

What  guidance  can  there  be? 
Behold  the  Lord  performeth 

According  to  his  word; 
The  armies  of  the  heathen 

Are  but  Jehovah's  sword. 

"Go  forth  to  fight  and  perish! 

Death  calls  the  mighty  ones; 
Yea,  where  I  am  thou  comest, 

To-morrow,   with  thy  sons, 
Thy  princes  and  thy  captains 

And  all  the  Hebrew  band; 
For  El  will  help  Philistia, 

And  none  can  stay  His  hand." 

Thus  spake  the  bodeful  phantom, 

And  vanished  into  space, 
While,  crushed  with  grief,  the  fated  chief 

Fell   fainting  on  his  face. 
What  king  had  ever  sorrow 

So  terrible  as  Saul, 
Foredoomed  to  lose  his  people, 

His  crown,  his  sons,  his  all? 

Alas!    his  swooning  passes; 

Its  mercy  may  not  stay; 
He  rises,  mounts  his  courser 

And  swiftly  rides  away. 


GILBOA.  123 


He  goes  to  death,  yet  hastens 
Without  a  halt  or  moan; 

He  speeds  to  fall  with  Israel, 
His  children  and  his  throne. 

Gilboa  glowed  with  sunrise 

When  battle  climbed  its  height; 
On  spear  and  shield  and  corselet 

Fell  sweet  the  morning  light. 
How  splendid  were  the  warriors 

Who  charged  the  Hebrew  hold! 
Yea,  glorious  was  Philistia 

With  brass  and  steel  and  gold. 

From  rock  to  thicket  clamber 

The  lurking  Cherethites; 
Their  feathered  arrows  whistle 

In  swift  and  deadly  flights; 
From  covert  on  to  covert 

The  cunning  archers  win, 
And  slowly  drive  before  them 

The  slings  of  Benjamin. 

Behind,  the  spearmen  follow 

In  deep  and  steady  ranks; 
Their  pikes  are  dense  as  thickets 

Of  reeds  on  Jordan's  banks; 
Their  shields  are  locked  together 

In  straight  and  burnished  walls, 
And  all  their  feet  keep  even  beat 

To  ringing  trumpet-calls. 


124  PALESTINA. 

What  could  the  sons  of  Jacob, 

What  could  their  fragile  darts, 
Their  feeble  wicker  bucklers, 

Their  naked  limbs  and  hearts, 
Against  Philistia's  cohorts, 

Complete  in  brazen  gear, 
Who  pushed  with  comrade  shoulders 

The  long  and  weighty  spear? 

In  vain  they  hurled  the  javelin, 

In  vain  they  swung  the  brand, 
Or  crept  within  the  pike-points 

To  struggle  hand  to  hand. 
The  shield  repelled  the  missile, 

The  helmet  turned  the  sword; 
And  all  the  while  each  thickened  file 

Of  spearmen  thrust  and  gored. 

On  throve  the  panting  phalanx, 

With  slow  and  toilsome  tread; 
But  every  forward  footstep 

Bestrode  the  mangled  dead. 
Down  went  the  best  and  foremost 

Of  Ephraim's  mighty  ones; 
Right  in  the  front  of  battle 

Died  Saul's  great-hearted  sons. 

Still  sounding  high  his  battle-cry, 
Still  lifting  glaive  to  strike, 

The  good  and  valiant  Jonathan 
Received  the  heathen  pike; 


GILBOA. 

And  striving  hard  to  rescue 

His  body  from  the  foe. 
His  youthful  brothers  perished, 

Returning  blow  for  blow. 

Afar,  their  father  knew  not 

That  they  had  sunk  to  rest; 
He  led  his  lordly  household 

Against  Philistia's  best; 
Except  the  ranks  of  foemen 

He  saw  not  anything; 
His  royal  brazen  trumpet 

Made  all  the  mountain  ring : 
"And  if  I  die,"  he  shouted, 

"At  least  I  die  a  king!" 

At  last  one  sped  and  told  him 

His  darling  ones  were  slain. 
"Now  death,"  he  said,  "is  welcome. 

O  Hebrews,  charge  again!" 
But  vain  his  call  for  vengeance, 

And  vain  his  eager  steel ; 
Down  go  his  first  and  bravest, 

And  back  their  comrades  reel. 

Back,  fighting,  bleeding,  dying, 

The  Hebrews  reeled  in  rout, 
\Yhile  forward  strove  the  heathen 

With  stern,  exulting  shout. 
All  over  Mount  Gilboa 

The  greaved  Achaean  slew ; 
All  over  Mount  Gilboa 

The  Cretan  arrow  flew. 


126 


PALESTINA. 

Sore  hampered  by  the  tumult 

Of  bloody  flight  and  chase, 
The  woful  king  of  Israel 

Drew  back  a  little  space; 
Retired,  yet  often  halted, 

Unwilling  yet  to  yield, 
Though  none  remained  to  help  him 

But  him  who  bare  his  shield. 

Hard  after  him  the  archers 

Pursued  with  twanging  bow ; 
In  vain  he  whirled  his  falchion 

And  laid  the  boldest  low ; 
They  rallied  and  they  volleyed, 

They  beat  upon  him  sore ; 
And  soon  his  burnished  armor 

Was  dimmed  with  trickling  gore. 

So,  seeing  that  his  battle 

Was  drawing  to  its  end, 
He  called  to  him  who  followed, 

"Come  hither,  faithful  friend ! 
Prevent  the  heathens'  boasting ; 

Prevent  their  bow  and  spear. 
Strike  quickly!     Strike  and  slay  me 

Before  they  draw  anear!" 

"Nay,"  wept  the  loyal  servitor ; 

"I  cannot  smite  my  lord."- 
Then  bared  the  king  his  bosom, 

And  fell  upon  his  sword; 


GILBOA.  127 


Nor  deigned  the  armor-bearer 
To  draw  one  further  breath  ; 

And  there  Philistia  found  them, 
Secure  and  grand  in  death. 

Ye  mountains  of  Gilboa, 

Let  neither  rain  nor  dew 
Bedeck  your  lofty  places 

Xor  tint  your  dells  anew ; 
For  there  the  blood  of  heroes 

Was  trampled  into  clay, 
The  buckler  of  the  mightv 

Was  vilely  cast  away. 

The  beauteous  ones  of  Israel 

Are  slain  upon  your  heights. 
How  are  the  lofty  fallen, 

The  chiefs  of  many  fights ! 
Oh,  tell  it  not  in  Askelon ! 

From  Gath  withold  the  voice  ! 
Lest  Dagon's  prophets  triumph 

And  Dagon's  maids  rejoice. 

Weep,  daughters  of  the  Hebrews, 

For  Saul,  the  gracious  king, 
Who  decked  you  fair  with  scarlet 

And  golden  chain  and  ring! 
For  him  and  for  his  princes, 

The  eagles  of  our  pride, 
Who  lived  in  lovely  concord 

And  undivided  died ! 


THE   PASTOR 


THE  PASTOR. 

The  Vision. 

In  thoughts  of  the  visions  of  night, 
When  slumber  possessed  me,     . 

My  spirit  was  seized  with  affright 
And  horrors  oppressed  me. 

A  phantom  appeared  to  my  eyes, 

A  vapor  of  error ; 
I  could  not  discover  its  guise, 

I  saw  but  a  terror. 

The  darkness  with  silence  was  shod ; 

A  voice  queried  lowly: 
"Shall  mortals  be  juster  than  God? 

More  pure  than  the  Holy? 

"In  angels  He  putteth  no  trust, 
Thev  tremble  before  Him  ; 

How  then  may  the  creatures  of  dust 
Approach  to  implore  Him? 

"They  vanish  from  morning  to  eve, 

They  perish  like  stubble; 
And  none  who  regardeth  will  grieve, 

Or  succor  their  trouble. 


132  PALESTINA. 


"Their  excellence  fadeth  to  naught, 
Their  gladness  to  sorrow ; 

And  even  the  wisdom  they  taught 
Lasts  not  till  the  morrow." 


The  Despondent. 

My  days  are  swifter  than  a  steed; 
They  find  no  joy  and  flee  away, 
Like  eagles  hasting  to  the  prey, 

Or  galleys  winged  with  stormy  speed. 

I  would  that  I  had  died  in  birth, 
That  I  had  fallen  unto  death, 
Before  I  learned  to  love  my  breath, 

Or  tasted  one  delight  of  earth. 

I  should  have  been  as  one  unborn ; 

I  should  have  flyted  to  the  tomb, 

Unheeding  of  my  early  doom 
As  any  moth  of  summer  morn. 

Are  not  my  days  a  feeble  few? 

Cease  then  from  troubling !     Stand  apart, 
And  let  me  take  some  little  heart 

Before  I  sink  beyond  the  view ; 

Before  I  go  to  sombre  lands 

Where  blindness  sits ;  to  lands  of  night, 
Where  darkness  is  the  only  light, 

And  Sheol  lifts  obscuring  hands. 


THE    PASTOR.  133 

The  Human. 

His  days  are  few  and  full  of  woe : 

He  springs  and  burgeons  like  a  flower : 
The  sickle  finds  him  ere  an  hour : 

He  goeth  as  the  shadows  go. 

The  flower  may  win  a  second  birth : 

But  man  is  dead  and  vanisheth : 

He  sighs  away  his  feeble  breath, 
And  who  can  find  him  on  the  earth? 

His  children  grow  to  power  and  fame ; 
They  fall  to  grievous  want  and  sin: 
He  sleeps  his  narrow  grave  within, 

Xor  cares  for  all  their  grace  or  shame. 

He  sinks  to  rest  and  will  not  rise : 

The  firmament  shall  pass  away ; 

But  still  he  sleeps  in  calm  decay, 
And  none  can  make  him  lift  his  eyes. 

Oh,  that  thou  mightest  hide  me  fast, 
Conceal  me,  fold  me  safe  in  gloom, 
Yea,  draw  the  curtains  of  my  tomb, 

Until  thy  judgments  hasten  past! 


134  PALESTINA. 

The  Redeemer. 

Have  pity  on  me,  O  my  friends ! 

A  mighty  hand  hath  touched  me  sore. 

Why  should  ye  chasten  more  and  more 
A  man  whose  sorrow  never  ends? 

Ye  sit  upon  the  judgment  seat; 
As  gods  ye  judge  and  persecute: 
And  I,  shall  I  be  meek  and  mute, 

Like  one  whose  pulse  hath  ceased  to  beat  ? 

I  would  that  all  my  words  were  writ 
On  graven  rock  or  lettered  page, 
That  they  might  last  from  age  to  age, 

And  men  might  read  them  every  whit. 

I  know  that  my  Redeemer  bides ; 
I  know  that  in  the  latter  days 
His  feet  shall  stand  in  earthly  ways 

And  search  the  glooms  where  sorrow  hides. 

Yea,  though  I  sleep  beneath  the  sod, 

Though  worms  destroy  this  strength  and  bloom, 
Yet  I  shall  part  the  shrouding  tomb, 

And  see  my  Savior,  see  my  God ; 

Shall  see  him  for  myself  alone, 

And  not  with  eyes  of  other  men ; 

Shall  look  upon  His  glory  when 
He  lifts  me  to  His  gracious  throne. 


THE    PASTOR. 

The  Fall  of  the  Evil. 

The  evil  grow  to  wealth  and  might; 
Their  kindred  prosper  in  their  sight ; 
Their  sons  inherit  long  delight. 

Their  tables  groan  with  costly  cheer; 
Their  hearts  are  fenced  away  from  fear : 
God  toucheth  not  their  plenteous  gear. 

They  take  the  timbrel,  pipe  and  lyre ; 
Their  voices  rise  in  gladsome  choir ; 
The  children  dance  before  the  sire. 

They  say  to  God,  "Depart!  away! 
We  hate  thy  way  and  flout  thy  sway. 
What  profits  us  to  fast  and  pray?" 

They  love  the  law  of  carnal  sense : 
They  spend  their  days  in  opulence; 
Then  eftersoon  they  vanish  hence. 

They  cannot  keep  their  faces  hale, 
Nor  bear  their  wealth  beyond  the  veil, 
But  fly  like  chaff  before  the  gale. 

In  vain  ye  seek  their  dwelling  place, 
The  lofty  towers,  the  halls  of  grace, 
The  mansions  of  the  princely  race. 

Long  since  they  vanished  from  the  spot; 

Their  very  glory  is  forgot; 

Men  answer  back,   "We  know  them  not." 


PALESTINA. 

The  Divine. 

On  dizzy  altitudes  he  stands ; 
Dominions  glitter  in  His  hands; 
His  terrors  march  in  awful  bands. 

Who  knoweth  how  to  count  His  hosts  ? 
His  mornings  shine  on  all  the  coasts ; 
His  glances  pierce  the  realm  of  ghosts. 

He  looks  upon  the  moon  as  dim; 
In  vain  the  starry  oceans  brim; 
They  seem  but  darkling  voids  to  Him. 

How  then  should  man,  the  child  of  dust 
Lift  Edenward  a  brow  of  trust 
Or  vaunt  himself  as  pure  and  just? 

His  worth  is  vile,  his  strength  infirm; 
He  carries  death  within  the  germ ; 
Behold,  he  seemeth  but  a  worm. 


THE   BARD 


THE  BARD. 

The  Gracious. 

O  Name  all  names  excelling ! 

Jehovah  !   secret  name ! 
Thou  hast  Thy  wondrous  dwelling 

Above  the  midday  flame. 

When  I  behold  Thy  wonders, 
The  marvels  of  Thy  hands, 

The  temple  of  Thy  thunders, 
The  moon  and  starry  bands, 

Lo,  what  is  man,  the  human, 

That  Thou  dost  grant  him  grace? 

Yea,  man  the  son  of  woman, 
That  Thou  dost  turn  Thy  face? 

Yet  Thou  hast  made  him  master 
Of  air  and  earth  and  sea, 

And  crowned  his  head  with  lustre, 
Viceregal  under  Thee. 

In  honor  and  in  station 
Scarce  less  than  seraphim, 

He  ruleth  Thy  creation 
Because  Thou  lovest  him. 

O  God  all  gods  excelling, 
How  vast  Thy  mercies  are ! 

Thy  power  is  past  all  telling, 
Thy  grace  is  greater  far. 


1 4°  PALESTINA. 

The  Deliverer. 

How  long  wilt  Thou  forget  me, 

My  Lord?     Forever? 
How  long  shall  woes  beset  me, 

And  spare  me  never  ? 

Alas,  Thy  face  is  hidden, 

0  King  immortal ! 

I  stand  and  knock,  forbidden 
To  pass  Thy  portal. 

My  soul  is  clothed  in  sadness ; 

1  perish  daily; 

My  foes  are  crowned  with  gladness, 
And  jeer  me  gaily. 

Behold,  my  footsteps  totter 

Without  foundation; 
I  walk  like  one  on  water, 

Nor  find  salvation. 

Consider  now  and  hear  me, 

0  Mighty!     Cherish 

My  fainting  life,  and  cheer  me, 
Lest  I  should  perish. 

O  gracious  one,  my  Savior, 

1  will  not  quiver, 

Nor  swerve,  nor  change  behavior, 
But  serve  Thee  ever. 


THE    BARD. 

The  Protector. 

God  bring  thee  out  of  harm. 
And  God  be  Thy  defender! 

God  show  thee  that  His  arm 
Is  strong  and  also  tender ! 

He  sees  thine  altar  fire, 

Thy  gift,  thine  offered  treasure, 
And  grants  thee  thy  desire. 

Fulfilled  beyond  thy  measure. 

Rejoice,  O  friends,  in  Him 

Who  breaks  the  bands  of  sadness ; 
Let  all  your  banners  swim 

Above  your  mounts  of  gladness. 

I  know  that  God  alone 

Can  rescue  them  that  perish ; 

He  bendeth  from  His  throne 
To  seek,  to  save,  to  cherish. 

Trust  not  in  spear  and  glaive, 
Xor  courser  shod  with  terror. 

For  steeds  are  vain  to  save, 
And  battles  reel  in  error. 

Our  savior  is  the  Lord 

Who  rides  upon  the  thunder ; 

And  when  He  lifts  his  sword 
The  nations  fall  asunder. 


142  PALESTINA. 

The  Avenger. 

Make  haste,  my  King,  to  deliver; 

Make  haste  to  aid  me,  my  Lord; 
Confound  and  scatter  and  shiver 

All  those  who  hold  me  abhorred ; 

All  those  who  weary  my  soul, 

Who  chase  me  with  bow  and  quiver 

Confound  their  evil  endeavor 
And  bring  them  to  dole. 

Yea,  those  who  grin  and  who  chatter, 
Who  follow  with  scoffing  and  leer, 

Disperse  them,  O  Helper,  and  scatter, 
Confound  and  fill  them  with  fear ! 

But  those  who  seek  Thee  in  sadness, 
Who  wait  for  thy  coming,  in  grief, 

Make  haste,  O  Giver  of  gladness, 
To  grant  them  relief. 

Be  swift  to  aid  me,  my  Lord ; 

Be  swift,  O  Strong,  to  deliver; 
I  hold,  I  cling,  to  thy  word, 

And  trust  Thee  forever. 


The  Splendor  of  Jehovah. 

Jehovah  reigns ! 

O  earth,  bloom  forth  in  smiles ; 
Be  glad,  ye  rivers,  hills  and  plains ; 

Rejoice,  O  multitude  of  isles ! 


THE    BARD.  143 

He  reigns  alone, 

Around  Him  folding  clouds  and  night; 
The  dwelling-places  of  His  throne 

Are  justice  and  eternal  right. 

Before  Him  runs  a  fire 

That  burneth  up  his  foes ; 

His  lightning  through  creation  goes, 
And  earth  recoils  before  his  ire; 

Yea,  hills  and  mountains  melt  apace 

Beneath  the  splendor  of  His  face. 

The  heavens  declare  His  holiness ; 

The  nations  see  His  glory  shine ; 
The  heathen  bow  in  humbleness ; 

The  gods  of  every  alien  shrine 

Acknowledge  Him  divine. 

Jerusalem  makes  mirth  ; 

Her  daughters  sing  in  sweet  accord 

Because  Thou  comest,  Lord, 
To  judge  the  earth. 

For  high  above  the  world  art  Thou, 
Yea,  high  above  the  skies 
And  greater  than  the  graven  lies 

Whereto  the  heathen  bow. 

O  ye  who  love  His  name, 

I  pray  you  hate  all  sinfulness ; 

So  shall  He  guard  when  foemen  press, 
And  save  vour  souls  from  flame. 


1 44  PALESTINA. 

The  righteous  walk  in  fields  of  light, 
In  pastures  lit  by  dazzling  suns ; 

Yea,  wondrous  beams  of  glory  smite 
The  ways  of  upright  ones. 

O  spirits  pure  and  lowly, 

Rejoice!   make  jubilee! 

For  Yahveh  giveth  you  to  see 
How  great  He  is  and  holy. 


The  Unchangeable. 

My  heart  is  smitten  very  sore, 

My  soul  is  withered  like  the  grass, 
My  days  like  driven  vapor  pass, 

Or  bubbles  breaking  'gainst  the  shore. 

I  wander  with  the  desert  birds, 
I  bide  among  the  owls  of  night, 
While  sons  of  evil  brave  the  light 

And  deafen  earth  with  haughty  words. 

Because  of  Thee  my  drink  is  tears, 
And  ashes  are  my  daily  bread — 
Because  Thine  anger  flameth  red 

Against  the  sins  that  mark  my  years. 

But  Thou  wilt  turn  again  to  save 
The  children  of  Thy  holy  hill ; 
And  all  the  cruel  Sires  of  ill 

Shall  cringe  before  thy  shining  glaive. 


THE    BARD.  145 

Thy  glances  pierce  the  morning's  breath  ; 
Thou  bendest  from  Thine  azure  throne 
To  hear  the  captive's  whispered  moan 

And  free  the  spirits  led  to  death. 

Of  old,  beyond  our  feeble  thought, 
Before  the  ages  came  to  be, 
Thy  fingers  made  the  earth  and  sea, 

Thy  hand  the  astral  spaces  wrought. 

Lo  these,  the  wonders  of  thy  power, 

Shall  fall  like  garments  to  decay ; 

Their  stateliness  shall  pass  away. 
And  Thou  shalt  change  them  in  an  hour. 

But  Thou,  O  Father,  art  the  same ; 

Thy  wondrous,  dazzling  years  endure; 

And  they  shall  stand  rejoiced,  secure, 
Who  love  the  beautv  of  Thv  Name. 


The  Merciful. 

I  will  extol  Thee,  O  my  King, 

Forever  with  uplifted  face ; 

Forever  magnify  Thy  grace, 
While  harp  can  sound  or  voice  can  sing. 

Thy  works  adore  Thee,  stars  and  suns, 
The  stable  earth,  the  flying  storms, 
The  broods  unborn,  the  living  swarms, 

The  multitude  of  sainted  ones. 


146  PALESTINA. 

We  fall ;   we  grovel  in  the  dust ; 

Because  of  sin  we  cannot  stand ; 

Yet  dost  Thou  reach  a  loving  hand, 
As  though  our  sorrow  made  us  just. 

The  eyes  of  all  look  up  to  Thee : 
Because  we  hunger  we  are  fed : 
And  if  Thou  gavest  not  Thy  bread, 

How  soon  our  life  would  cease  to  be ! 

But  chiefly  those  who  seek  Thy  throne 
Discover  that  Thy  love  is  sweet: 
They  never  walk  with  stumbling  feet ; 

They  never  walk,  O  Lord,  alone. 


Adoration. 

Ye  broods  of  deserts,  isles  and  wildernesses, 

Ye  monsters  of  the  den, 
Ye  gentle  flocks  and  herds  whose  tribute  blesses 

The  toil  of  men ; 

Ye  finny  habitants  of  rills  and  fountains, 

Ye  songsters  of  the  breeze, 
Ye  vales,  ye  oaken  hills,  ye  cedarn  mountains, 

Ye  fruitage  trees ; 

I  bid  ye  praise  the  Maker  who  upbuilded 

Creation's  wondrous  frame, 
Who  jewelled  night  with  galaxies,  and  gilded 

The  sun  with  flame. 


THE    BARD.  147 

Ye  also,  sons  of  Adam,  all  ye  nations 

Of  regions  far  and  nigh, 
Exalt  your  antiphon  of  adorations 

To  God  most  high. 

Let  all  adore,  the  monarch  robed  in  splendor, 

The  sage  with  hoary  hair, 
The  mighty  man  of  war,  the  stripling  tender, 

The  maiden  fair; 

Ungovernable  tempests,  fierce  commotions, 

Of  fire  and  sleet  and  foam ; 
Abysses,  awful  deeps,  mysterious  oceans 

Where  dragons  roam; 

O  azure-tinted  firmament  of  waters, 

Of  thunder,  wind  and  fire; 
O  sun  and  moon,  O  starry  sons  and  daughters 

Of  God's  desire ; 

0  seraphim  and  angels,  bowing  lowly 
Around  the  blinding  throne ; 

1  bid  you  praise  the  Maker,  great  and  holy, 
And  Him  alone. 


THE   BURDEN   OF  SAMARIA 


THE  BURDEN  OF  SAMARIA. 
Jeroboam. 

0  Israel,  hearken  to  me ! 
Said  Jeroboam,  the  king; 

Go  not  to  Zion  to  bend  the  knee ! 
Said  the  son  of  Xebat,  the  king. 

A  golden  Apis  I  make  in  Dan, 
An  Apis  of  gold  in  Beth-El; 

So  bear  your  offerings,  every  man, 
To  them,  and  all  will  be  well. 

Gods  are  they  who  brought  your  sires 
From  Egypt  in  days  agone: 

So  gather  about  their  altar  fires 
And  worship  from  eve  to  dawn. 

1  burn  the  incense,  I  am  the  priest, 

Said  Jeroboam,  the  king; 
O  Ephraim,  come  to  my  holy  feast, 
Said  the  son  of  Xebat,  the  king. 

Ahijah's  Curse. 

The  blinded  seer,  the  Shilonite, 

Ahijah,  worshipped  Yahveh's  name; 
And  when  the  queen  of  Israel  came, 

An  angel  brought  him  second-sight. 


152  PALESTINA. 

"Approach !"  he  bade,  ''and  bow  the  knee ! 

I  know  thee,  wife  of  Ephraim's  king ; 

I  know  the  query  thou  dost  bring. 
Go,  bear  thy  husband  God's  decree. 

'  'Because  thou  floutest  Me/   He  saith; 
'Because  thou  madest  gods  of  gold, 
And  leddest  Jacob  from  my  fold, 
I  summon  Nebat's  sons  to  death; 

The  dog  shall  tear  them  in  the  street, 
The  vulture  tear  them  in  the  field ; 
Their  bones  shall  whiten,  unconcealed, 
Beneath  the  scorn  of  alien  feet.' 

"And  thou,  O  weeping  mother,  fly 
To  find  thy  stricken  one  alive ; 
Yet  even  while  thy  steps  arrive 

Beneath  thy  portal,  he  shall  die." 


Elijah's  Curse. 

O  son  of  Omri,  Ahab,  king 
In  Jacob!    evil  hast  thou  done 
Above  the  kings  before  thee.     None 

Have  served  like  thee  the  Cursed  Thing. 

O  son  of  Omri,  was  it  well 

To  worship  molten  calves,  but  thou 

Must  also  diadem  the  brow 
Of  Sidon's  heathen  Jezebel? 


THE    BURDEN    OF    SAMARIA.  153 

Moreover,  thou  hast  let  her  rave 

Against  Jehovah's  faithful  seers 

Till  I  alone,  a  child  of  tears, 
Have  'scaped  the  slayer's  bloody  glaive. 

Yea,  lofty  stones  of  Ashtar,  and 

A  fane  to  Sidon's  brazen  Boast, 

And  altars  to  the  starry  host 
Beside  thine  ivory  palace  stand. 

Wherefore,  O  king,  Jehovah  saith, 

I  send  thee  neither  rain  nor  dew 

For  years,  till  Israel  shall  rue 
His  wanton  ways,  and  long  for  death. 


Carmel. 

The  Holy  One  of  Shiloh  bade : 
"Elijah,  speak  to  Ephraim's  king, 
And  I,  the  merciful,  will  bring 

My  rain  anew  on  hill  and  glade." 

And  Ahab  railed:  "Art  thou  the  man 
Who  troubles  thirsting  Israel?" — 
"Not  I,  but  Sidon's  Jezebel ; 

Not  I,  but  Omri's  heathen  clan." 

"Why  should  the  Highest  bless  a  fold 
That  turns  from  Him  to  ways  of  death, 
Adoring  Baal  and  Ashtoreth 

And  Jeroboam's  beasts  of  gold? 


154  PALESTINA. 

"Why  should  He  pour  His  fruitful  rain 
Upon  the  realm  of  her  who  drave 
His  faithful  seers  from  cave  to  cave, 

And  spilled  their  blood  on  mount  and  plain  ? 

"Now  gather  thou  on  Carmel  all 
The  prophets  of  the  starry  horde 
And  Arbel's  queen  and   Sidon's  lord; 

Yea,  whoso  scoffs  at  Yahveh's  call. 

"And  they  shall  cry  to  gods  of  stone, 

And  I  to  El's  eternal  name; 

And  whoso  sends  consuming  flame, 
The  earth  shall  hail  him  God  alone." 
****** 

O  fire  of  Heaven !     Sinai's  breath  ! 

Elijah's  altar  blazes  high ! 

The  priests  of  Baal  and  Ashtar  lie 
By  Kishon's  river,  dumb  in  death. 

Then  wailed  the  Canaanitish  queen : 
"O  gods  infernal !     Death  and  Fear ! 
Avenge  me  on  this  bloody  seer ! 

Or  slay  me  also,  gods  unseen !" 


The  Death  of  Ahab. 

To  Yahveh's  prophet  Ahab  cried : 
"Shall  Ephraim's  host  to  battle  go, 
And  Judah  lift  the  spear  and  bow 

Against  Benhadad's  armored  pride?" 


THE    BURDEX    OF    SAMARIA.  155 

"Yea,  go  and  prosper,"  scoffed  the  seer. 

"Have  not  the  oracles  of  Baal 

Assured  thee  triumph  over  all? 
Why  seekest  thou  the  future  here? 

"But  canst  thou  bear  Jehovah's  word? 
I  saw  thy  people  scattered  far, 
Like  sheep  upon  a  mountain  scar: 

And,  These  are  masterless !'   I  heard." 

So  Ahab  changed  his  broidered  cloak, 

And  laid  his  golden  armor  by; 

Then  raised  his  lordly  battle-cry, 
And  through  the  ranks  of  Syria  broke. 

A  nameless  Aramean  drew 

A  random  arrow,  aimed  by  chance; 
But  Yahveh  winged  the  fragile  lance, 

And  smote  the  jointed  harness  through. 

Thereon  the  king:    "O  charioteer, 

Turn  thou  aside,  for  I  must  die; 

But  let  no  soldier  come  anigh, 
Lest  Ephraim  yield  in  panic  fear." 

At  even,  when  the  chariot  fled, 

The  king  alone  knew  not  defeat. 

His  warder  stayed  him  in  his  seat, 
Erect  and  proud.     The  king  was  dead. 


156  PALESTINA. 

Jezebel  at  the  Window. 

She  decked  herself  with  chain  and  ring, 
She  rouged  her  cheek  and  tyred  her  fleece, 
Yet  ever  shrilled,  "Had  Zimri  peace  ? 

Had  Zimri  peace  who  slew  his  king?" 

She  trembled  not  at  treason's  horde, 

She  fronted  Jehu's  lion  eye,  * 

Nor  ceased  to  shriek  that  boding  cry, 

"Had  Zimri  peace  who  slew  his  lord?" 

"Ho  there,  above!   who  stands  for  me?" 

The  slayer  clamored :  "Fling  her  down!"  *  *  * 
O  Sidon's  lineage  !     Ephraim's  crown ! 

O  what  a  fall  was  there  to  see! 

Her  royal  blood  besprinkled  horse 

And  wheel  and  wall  and  trampling  foot; 
Her  gracious  beauty  gorged  the  brute 

That  snarled  above  her  queenly  corse. 

Hosea's  Curse. 

Ephraim  forgetteth  Sinai's  El, 

And  buildeth  fanes  to  calves  of  gold ; 
His  Baalim-stones  are  manifold, 

His  altars  burden  hill  and  dell. 

Yet  shall  he  tremble  with  affright 
Because  of  the  shame  of  Beth  Aven, 
Where  batten  the  vulture  and  raven, 

And  smoke  of  offering  dims  the  sight. 


THE   BURDEN    OF    SAMARIA. 

Beth  Aven,  sin  of  Israel,  cry ! 

Thy  shafts  of  Ashteroth  shall  fall, 
And  thorn  and  thistle  cover  all 

The  altars  where  thy  Baalim  lie. 

Behold,  thy  glory  disappears ! 

The  idols  of  Jacob  are  shattered, 
The  hosts  of  Samaria  scattered, 

And  none  shall  dry  the  captive's  tears. 

The  Ninevite  shall  tread  your  land 
Your  palaces  shall  hear  his  mirth, 
And  you  shall  bring  your  children  forth, 

And  give  them  to  the  slayer's  hand. 


THE  STORY   OF  JERUSALEM 


THE  STORY  OF  JERUSALEM. 
The  Messenger. 

I  saw  the  Mighty  on  His  throne, 

Uplifted,  awful,  beautiful, 

His  angels  round  him  thronging  full 
The  temple  to  its  topmost  stone. 

Above  Him  soared  the  seraphim 
With  pinions  folded  o'er  the  face 
Because  the  brightness  of  the  place 

Might  make  immortal  senses   swim. 

Then  one  invisible  to  me 

(So  dazzled  was  I  by  the  flame), 
Cried,  "Holy,  holy  is  his  name!  » 

His  glory  covers  earth  and  sea." 

Meanwhile  the  brazen  gateways  reeled 
And  all  the  temple  rocked  in  smoke, 
So  mighty  was  the  voice  that  spoke, 

So  fearful  was  the  sight  revealed. 

Then  said  I,  "Woe  is  me !   undone ! 

Because  I  am  a  man  unclean ; 

And  yet  my  sinful  eyes  have  seen 
The  Lord  of  hosts,  the  Holy  One." 

Thereon  a  seraph  flew  anear 
And  laid  upon  my  lips  a  coal : 


1 62  PALESTINA. 

"Lo  this  hath  purified  thy  soul 
And  made  thee  worthy  to  be  here." 

Then  where  the  glory  folded  high 
A  heavenly  voice  responded  low : 
"Who  is  my  herald?     Who  will  go?" — 

I  answered  :  "Send  me  !     Here  am  I." 

The  Message. 

O  land  of  carven  imageries, 

Where  every  man  doth  hew  his  god, 
And  every  forehead  beats  the  sod 

Before  the  dumb  and  sightless  lies! 

The  peasant  worships  in  his  cot, 
The  lordling  in  his  pictured  hall; 
They  turn  from  Thee,  both  great  and  small  ; 

Therefore,  my  God,  forgive  them  not. 

The  anger  of  the  Lord  is  rolled 
On  all  the  arrogant  and  proud, 
The  steeds  and  chariots  clanking  loud, 

The  stores  of  silver  and  of  gold ; 

The  groves  of  terebinth  and  oak 

Where  Baal  delights  in  dance  and  song, 
And  Moloch  scowls  upon  his  throng 

Of  worshippers  through  flame  and  smoke; 

The  beetling  towers  and  battlements, 
The  marble  courts  and  palaces, 
The  ships  of  Tarshish  cleaving  seas 

From  isles  of  gum  and  frankincense. 


THE    STORY    OF   JERUSALEM.  163 

In  that  affrighted  day  shall  men 
Cast  out  their  idols  to  the  moles, 
And  hide  within  the  mountain  holes, 

And  fight  with  monsters  for  a  den. 

For  terribly  shall  God  descend 
Upon  the  wicked,  wicked  earth 
To  sweep  it  like  a  besomed  hearth 

Till  Judah's  strong  delusions  end. 

The  Curse. 

The  righteous  dieth  day  by  day, 

The  merciful  is  borne  apart; 

And  none  receiveth  it  to  heart, 
Or  saith,   "Behold  they  'scape  away." 

They  'scape  from  cruelty  and  stress; 

They  enter  into  perfect  calm; 

They  sleep  upon  their  beds  of  balm, 
Each  folded  sweet  in  holiness. 

But  you,  the  sons  of  pagan  shame, 
Vile  heritors  of  breeds  perverse, 
Draw  near  and  hearken  to  the  curse 

That  God  hath  bidden  me  proclaim. 

O  brood  unholy,  evil  born, 

Ye  mock  the  voice  that  angels  fear, 
Ye  thrust  the  tongue  in  wicked  leer, 

Ye  open  wide  a  mouth  of  scorn. 


164  PALESTINA. 

On  every  hill  ye  worship  lies, 
In  every  grove  ye  mutter  spells, 
And  slay  your  sons  in  bloody  dells 

To  gods  who  cannot  hear  their  cries. 

In  rivulets  of  glen  and  cave 
Ye  pour  your  offerings  of  wine, 
And  call  the  senseless  flints  divine 

That  glimmer  through  the  senseless  wave. 

Shall  I  rejoice,  Jehovah  saith, 

In  rites  and  blasphemies  like  these, 
In  dances  underneath  the  trees, 

And  chants  upon  the  mountain  heath? 

Behold,  when  foemen  mount  your  wall, 
And  ye  discern  your  temples  blaze; 
When  slaughter  reddens  all  your  ways, 

And  spoilers  run  from  hall  to  hall; 

When  judgment  overtakes  your  crime, 
And  ye  beseech  me  from  the  dust; 
Let  those  deliver  whom  ye  trust, 

The  tempest-driven  sons  of  time! 


THE    STORY    OF    JERUSALEM.  165 

The  Judgment. 

Thus-  sayeth  Jehovah,  the  Lord  : 

Go  speak  to  the  mountains  of  Zion, 
Yea,  cry  to  the  valleys  and  waters : 

Behold,  I  arrive  with  a  sword, 
Behold,  I  come  up  like  a  lion ; 

I  come  to  destroy  your  high  places, 
To  spoil  and  defile  them  with  slaughters. 

Your  idols  shall  fall  on  their  faces, 
Your  altars  shall  totter  and  crumble, 

Your  soothsaying  prophets  shall  die, 
And  there,  where  your  graven  gods  tumble, 

The  slain  of  your  people  shall  lie. 
The  hand  of  my  fury  shall  blight 

And  wither  and  utterly  humble 
The  oaks  of  your  heathen  delight, 

The  beautiful  groves  that  ye  cherish. 
The  breath  of  my  anger  shall  waste 

Your  armies  with  sudden  affright 
And  fill  your  strongholds  with  amaze. 

Your  populous  cities  shall  perish, 
The  warders  shall  fall  in  their  haste, 

Shall  stumble  and  die  in  their  flight 
And  cumber  with  corpses  the  ways. 

Yea,  mingled  with  imageries  shattered 
In  temples  and  groves  and  by  waters ; 

Yea,  piled  around  altars  bespattered 
By  victims  of  Baalim  abhorred ; 

The  bones  of  your  sons  and  your  daughters 
Shall  whiten  unburied  and  scattered, 

To  witness  that  I  am  the  Lord. 


1 66  PALESTINA. 

The  Fast. 

"Behold,"  the  sons  of  Judah  say, 

"How  many  solemn  fasts  we  hold ! 
How  many  contrite  psalms  are  rolled ! 

And  yet  He  turns  his  face  away." 

Alas !    ye  fast  for  hate  and  strife, 
To  smite  with  cruel  fist  the  poor, 
And  drive  the  beggar  from  the  door 

That  guards  your  light  and  pampered  life. 

Is  this  the  fast  that  God  decrees, 
A  day  for  man  to  scourge  his  soul 
And  bow  in  counterfeited  dole 

Like  rushes  smitten  by  the  breeze? 

What  boots  it  though  ye  crawl  and  weep, 
In  sackcloth  hiding  garments  fair, 
And  sprinkle  cinders  on  the  hair, 

All  day  upon  the  ashen  heap? 

Behold  the  fast  that  God  ordains : 
To  break  the  yoke  of  wickedness ; 
To  ease  the  burden  of  distress ; 

To  loose  the  slave's  and  debtor's  chains ; 

To  lead  the  houseless  one  within; 

To  cheer  his  fainting  soul  with  bread ; 

To  clothe  him,  warm  him,  in  thy  stead ; 
To  be  a  brother  to  thy  kin. 


THE    STORY    OF    JERUSALEM.  l6/ 

Then,  when  thou  askest  any  boon, 
Thy  God  will  answer,  "Here  am  I!" 
His  sun  will  rise  upon  thy  sky, 

And  all  thy  darkness  turn  to  noon. 


The  City  of  Destruction. 

\Yoe,  woe  to  the  city  imperial, 

The  delicate  city! 
There  cometh  a  shadow  funereal, 

A  doom  without  pity. 

Thy  daughters  walk  pertly  and  haughtily ; 

They  mince  as  in  dances ; 
They  bridle  the  neck ;  they  turn  naughtily 

\Yith  wantoning  glances. 

Thine  ancients  are  misers,  usurious ; 

Thy  judges  are  knavish; 
Thine  opulent  ones  are  luxurious ; 

Thy  mean  ones  are  slavish. 

Thy  magistrates  creep  in  senility; 

Thy  prophets  dissemble; 
Thy  counsellors  babble  sterility ; 

Thy  men  of  war  tremble. 

Thou  wast  altogether  victorious 
When  God  was  thy  pleasure; 

Thy  visage  was  shining  and  glorious, 
Thy  joy  had  no  measure. 


1 68  PALESTINA. 

But  now  art  thou  wayward,  undutiful 

To  Him,  thy  salvation; 
And  so  art  thou  blemished,  unbeautiful, 

A  doom-stricken  nation. 

Because  thou  hast  borne  thee  exultingly 

And  trampled  the  lowly; 
Because  thou  hast  chattered  insultingly 

Of  things  that  are  holy ; 

Because  thou  despiseth  admonishment 

And  boldest  to  error ; 
Thy  judgment  shall  be  an  astonishment, 

Thy  scourging  a  terror. 


The  Chambers  of  Imagery. 

I  saw  the  image  of  the  Name. 

The  loins  and  robe  were  amber  bright, 
The  waist  was  girt  about  with  light, 

And  all  above  was  dazzling  flame. 

It  reached  the  likeness  of  a  hand, 
And  bore  me  'twixt  the  earth  and  sky 
To  where  an  idol  brazens  nigh 

The  holy  fane  of  Judah's  land ; 

And  showed  me  all  the  evil  ways 
Of  Zion,  lost  in  unbelief, 
And  wandering  from  grief  to  grief, 

From  guilt  to  guilt,  in  blinded  maze. 


THE    STORY    OF    JERUSALEM.  169 

I  saw  the  under  courts  of  sin, 

The  hidden  shrines  of  carven  lies, 

The  darkling  vaults  of  imageries, 
And  Judah  worshipping  therein; 

The  chosen  ancients  of  our  race, 

The  hallowed  seventy,  kneeling  there, 
With  solemn  eyes  and  silver  hair, 

While  incense  clouded  all  the  place; 

Judean  maids  with  humbled  head 
And  ashen  locks  and  rended  vest, 
Who  cut  the  arm  and  beat  the  breast 

In  wicked  wail  for  Tammuz  dead ; 

Yea,  men  within  the  holy  gate, 
Who  reverenced  the  star  of  day, 
And  turned  their  senseless  gaze  away 

From  Yahveh's  choir  and  templed  state. 

Then  said  the  Holy  One,  ''Behold! 

Thou  seest  what  my  people  do : 

Therefore  I  will  not  spare  nor  rue, 
But  smite  them  fiercely,  young  and  old." 


The  Warning. 

Storm  out,  ye  trumpeters  of  death ! 

Along  my  holy  mountain,  blow ! 

Awaken  larums  wild  with  woe ! 
Blow,  cruel  trumpets !  spare  no  breath ! 


PALESTINA. 

For  lo,  Jehovah's  day  of  might 
Is  nigh :   a  day  of  bitter  doom : 
A  day  of  darkness  and  of  gloom: 

Of  thickened  clouds  and  heavy  night. 

Like  morning  mists,  that  overspread 

The  mountains,  comes  a  northern  swarm, 
A  people  great  and  fierce,  whose  form 

The  living  knew  not,  nor  the  dead. 

Before  their  swiftness  rolls  a  smoke ; 

Behind  them  angry  flamings  rise; 

Before,  the  land  is  Paradise; 
Behind,  a  waste  devoid  of  folk. 

Their  guise  is  like  to  steeds  who  stride 
And  foam  along  the  front  of  wars ; 
Their  clamor,  like  to  leaping  cars 

That  thunder  down  the  mountain  side. 

As  mighty  ones  they  run  apace, 

As  chosen  ones  they  mount  and  climb ; 
Each  keeps  his  even  rank  and  time, 

Nor  ever  falters  from  his  place. 

They  scale  the  battlemented  walls, 
They  speed  along  the  city  streets ; 
Behold  them  in  your  fair  retreats ! 

Behold  them  in  your  lordly  halls ! 

The  earth  recoils  before  their  tread, 

The  sun  and  moon  withdraw  their  light, 
The  starry  armies  faint  in  night, 

The  hollow  welkins  reel  in  dread. 


THE    STORY    OF    JERUSALEM.  I  7  I 

Wherefore,  renounce  your  ways  of  ill, 
O  house  of  Judah!     Turn!     Repent 
With  eager  fasting  and  lament! 

Perhaps  your  God  will  pardon  still. 


The  Spoiler. 

I  bring  destruction — hear.  O  land  !— 
I  bring  destruction  on  your  race, 
Because  ye  turn  away  the  face. 

Because  ye  scoff  at  my  command. 

What  care  I  for  your  honeyed  cane. 
Your  smoke  of  Sheba's  frankincense? 
Go,  take  your  sacrifices  hence ! 

Your  loaded  altars  burn  in  vain. 

Behold,  I  lay  a  stumbling  stone 
Before  you ;  all  shall  perish,  all ; 
The  fathers  and  the  sons  shall  fall : 

The  friend,  the  comrade;   every  one. 

A  people  hastens  from  afar 

To  desolate  your  might  and  mirth ; 
It  journeys  from  the  sides  of  earth 

To  seek  and  overtake  and  mar. 

Their  hearts  are  merciless  to  slay : 
They  clamor  like  the  ocean  storm : 
They  brandish  bow  and  lance  ;  they  swarm 

On  horses  ranked  in  war  array. 


PALESTINA. 

Be  fearful ;   hold  within  the  gate ; 

Avoid  the  harvests  of  your  field ; 

They  hide  the  foeman's  sword  and  shield ; 
On  every  side  the  slayers  wait. 

O  daughter  of  my  people,  cry ! 
Cry  out  with  ashes  on  your  head, 
Like  one  bewailing  o'er  the  dead, 

For  ID,  the  spoiler  draweth  nigh ! 


The  Siege. 

I  seek  the  fields,  the  gardens  fair, 
And  stumble  o'er  the  bloody  slain ; 
I  creep  within  the  gates  again, 

And  lo,  they  die  of  famine  there. 

The  prophet  wanders  in  amaze, 
As  one  who  gropeth  with  the  hand ; 
He  knoweth  not  his  native  land, 

He  findeth  not  the  ancient  ways. 

Why  hast  Thou  scorned  Jerusalem, 
And  hated  all  Thy  holy  hill  ? 
Why  hast  Thou  smitten  us,  until 

No  hand  may  heal  the  broken  stem? 

We  know  our  wickedness,  O  Lord, 
The  wickedness  of  son  and  sire ; 
Yet  veil  Thy  countenance  of  ire, 

Nor  hold  us  evermore  abhorred. 


THE    STORY    OF    JERUSALEM.  1/3 

Because  of  Thy  majestic  name, 

Because  Thy  throne  is  glorious, 

Break  not  Thy  covenant  with  us, 
Thy  prostrate  people,  clothed  in  shame. 


Overthrow. 

I  looked  upon  the  earth ;  and  lo 

A  hollow  void  where  life  was  spent ; 
I  looked  upon  the  firmament, 

And  saw  nor  sun  nor  aster  glow. 

The  hills  were  stricken  to  their  fall, 

The  mountains  reeled  like  driven  waves ; 
Mankind  had  vanished  into  graves, 

And  silence  brooded  over  all. 

The  melodists  of  morn  had  failed, 
The  fragrant  gardens  lay  a-waste ; 
The  haughty  cities  were  abased 

To  ruins,  where  the  owlet  wailed. 

Because  of  rushing  steeds,  and  din 
Of  archers,  they  arose  in  flight 
To  fen  and  wold  and  rocky  height, 

Nor  any  man  remained  therein. 

Yea,  scattered  were  they ;  hurled  before 
The  coming  of  the  Lord  of  hosts ; 
His  anger  quelled  their  swelling  boasts 

And  swept  them  like  a  besomed  floor. 


1/4  PALESTINA. 

"Because  I  purposed  it,"  he  saith, 
"Because  I  promised  in  my  wrath, 
I  will  not  turn  upon  my  path, 

Nor  sorrow  when  they  sink  to  death. 

"Because  I  prophesied  their  doom, 
The  land  shall  lie  a  wilderness, 
The  earth  shall  mourn  in  sore  distress, 

The  firmament  be  veiled  in  gloom." 


Unsepulchred. 

The  glory  of  the  land  hath  ceased 
And  scornful  hands  bring  forth  the  bones 
Of  those  who  sate  on  Judah's  thrones, 

The  bones  of  noble,  seer  and  priest; 

To  scatter  them  before  the  host 

Of  shining  heaven,  the  sun  of  noon, 
The  multitude  of  stars,  the  moon, 

The  senseless  gods  they  worshipped  most ; 

And  none  shall  see  with  pity ;   none 

Shall  hide  them  from  the  prowling  brute ; 
But  they  shall  lie  beneath  the  foot 

Without  a  covering  or  stone; 

While  those  who  lurk  in  mountain  caves, 
The  remnant  of  an  evil  tribe, 
Lean  forth  with  bitter  scowl  and  gibe, 

Curse  God  and  men,  and  pray  for  graves. 


THE    STORY    OF    JERUSALEM.  1/5 

The  Sorrowful  City. 

How  doth  the  city  bide  alone 

That  lately  rang  with  multitudes, 
A  queen  among  the  gentile  broods, 

A  princess  glorious  on  her  throne ! 

She  weepeth  sorely  through  the  night, 
Her  tears  disguise  her  smitten  face; 
She  wins  no  comforting  nor  grace 

From  those  who  called  her  their  delight. 

Her  foes  pursued  her  flying  tread 

And  caught  her  'mid  the  narrow  ways ; 
She  bowed  her  head  in  pale  amaze ; 

In  alien  lands  she  bows  her  head. 

The  hallowed  streets  of  Zion  moan 
Because  her  solemn  feasts  are  spent ; 
Her  gates  are  void,  her  towers  rent, 

Her  virgins  weep,  her  prophets  groan. 

Because  her  sins  were  manifold 

Her  children  bear  the  heathen's  chain, 
Her  adversaries  thrive  amain, 

Her  spoilers  riot  uncontrolled. 

The  Lament. 

Remember,  Jehovah,  our  strait, 

Remember  our  noyance. 
The  elders  have  failed  from  the  gate, 

The  youths  from  their  joyance. 


PALESTINA. 

Our  fathers  have  sinned,  and  are  not, 

We  bear  their  offences ; 
The  stranger  inherits  our  lot, 

The  foe  our  defences. 

Our  princes  are  tortured  and  slain, 
Our  daughters  win  scorning; 

Our  triumph  hath  ended  in  pain, 
Our  dances  in  mourning. 

The  temple  of  God  is  defaced, 

The  temple  of  Zion ; 
Our  beautiful  hill  is  a  waste 

For  foxes  to  lie  on. 

Thy  kingdom  remaineth,  O  Lord, 

Forever  and  ever; 
Why  needest  Thou  hold  us  abhorred 

And  pardon  us  never? 

Behold  us,  O  God,  we  implore. 

Behold  us  in  pity; 
Restore  thy  sad  people ;  restore 

Thy  sorrowing  city. 


By  the  Rivers  of  Babylon. 

Beside  Babylonian  waters 

We  halted ;  we  rested  unsleeping ; 

We  hushed ;  we  remembered  the  slaughters 
Of  Zion ;   remembered  them  weeping. 


THE    STORY    OF    JERUSALEM. 

We  covered  our  sorrowing  faces. 
Remembering  Zion  the  splendid, 

Her  grandeurs,  her  delicate  graces, 

Xow  smitten  and  trampled  and  ended. 

With  sobbing  and  tears  we  remembered, 
And  hung  up  our  harps  on  the  willows 

For  beautiful  Canaan  dismembered, 
For  Judah  gone  down  in  the  billows. 

And  they  who  destroyed  us,  whose  fury 
Had  ravined  and  torn  like  a  lion. 

Said,  "Sport  ye,  O  captives  of  Jewry ; 
Xow  sing  us  the  anthems  of  Zion." 

Ye  cruel !   our  anthems  are  praises 
To  God ;   they  are  joypus  as  bridals. 

How  may  we  attune  the  sweet  phrases 
To  chains,  amid  aliens  and  idols? 

Jerusalem,  should  I  forget  thee, 
Thou  ruin  that  Babel  disdaineth, 

Or  fail  but  a  moment  to  set  thee 
Above  every  joy  that  remaineth ; 

Then  perish  the  hand  that  hath  holden 
The  harp  while  our  choruses  thundered  ! 

And  perish  the  cadences  golden 
That  billowed  till  Israel  wondered ! 


1 78  PALESTINA. 

The  Vision  of  The  Glory. 


I  sate  with  those  who  sighed 

In  bonds  abhorred 
Beside  the  Chebar's  alien  tide, 
And  saw  the  heavens  cloven  wide, 

And  saw  the  vision  of  the  Lord. 


ii 

Behold  a  northern  hurricane 

Whereon  a  monstrous  cloud  did  sit. 

Infolding  whirls  of  fiery  rain 
With  amber  in  the  midst  of  it, 

While  brightness  girdled  all  again. 


in 

From  out  the  flying  storm 

Of  circling  flame 

And  luminous  amber  color,  came 
Four  wondrous  living  creatures, 

Alike  to  Adam's  sons  in  form 
But  other  far  in  features ; 

For  each  beheld  \vith  fourfold  eyes 
And  showed  a  fourfold  face, 
One  countenance  of  human  grace, 

The  others  lordly  beasts  in  guise, 

Expressing  things  beyond  surmise. 


THE    STORY    OF    JERUSALEM.  1 79 

IV 

On  fourfold  wings  they  sped 

Straight  forward,  never  turning, 
Suffused  with  gleams  from  foot  to  head 
Like  coals  of  altars  glowing  red, 

Or  golden  lamps  a-burning, 
\Yhile  issued  from  the  spangled  splendor 
Incessant  lightnings  keen  and  slender. 


Above  their  foreheads  shone, 
And  trembled  as  they  went, 
A  plumage  woven  of  the  firmament, 

In  color  like  a  dreadful  crystal  stone. 
The  clamor  of  their  wings  surpassed 
The  noise  of  waters  vast, 

The  roar  of  rivers  downward  driven, 

The  shout  of  billows  tempest-riven. 


VI 

I  saw  them  fly 

Athwart  the  earth's  dominions, 
Till  suddenly,  above  the  sky, 

A  mighty  voice  resounded ; 
\Yhereon  they  drooped  their  pinions 

And  stood  with  faces  turned  on  high 
Like  creatures  all  confounded 

Because  of  some  great  glory  nigh. 


l8O  PALESTINA. 


VII 


Then,  far  beyond  unaided  ken, 

Appeared  a  blinding  sapphire  throne, 
Whereon  sate  One,  sublime,  alone, 

In  fashion  like  the  sons  of  men. 


The  Scroll  of  Retribution, 

I  saw  the  great  and  holy  One, 
In  fashion  like  a  man  divine, 
Devised  of  amber  wondrous  fine, 

And  filled  with  flamings  like  the  sun. 

Around  him  bright  apparel  blew, 
Of  mingled  color,  stain  on  stain, 
Like  to  the  bow  that  follows  rain 

Because  Jehovah's  word  is  true. 

Then  falling  on  my  face,  I  heard 
A  thunder  far  above  my  head, 
A  voice  of  thunderings  that  said, 

"Arise  and  listen  to  my  word. 

"Arise  and  listen,  son  of  man ! 

I  send  thee  to  an  evil  race 

That  scorns  and  ever  scorned  my  grace, 
Since  first  its  little  life  began. 

"Their  utterance  is  full  of  stings, 

Their  looks  are  sharper  than  a  spear ; 
Yet,  even  though  they  will  not  hear, 

Proclaim  the  burden  of  these  things." 


THE    STORY    OF    JERUSALEM.  l8l 

Then,  reaching  through  the  cloven  skies, 
A  hand,  resplendent,  swiftly  stole, 
That  held  the  seeming  of  a  roll 

And  opened  it  before  my  eyes. 

I  looked  upon  the  roll,  and  lo 

Twas  written  close  on  either  side ; 
Yet  naught  was  written  there  beside 

Lamenting,  mourning,  wail  and  woe. 


The  Burden  of  Tyre. 

O  island  city,  throning  high 
Beside  the  gate  of  many  seas, 
Your  tribute  comes  on  every  breeze 

From  lands  beyond  the  circled  sky. 

It  comes  in  many  a  galleon 

Whose  rowers  toil  on  ivory  seats, 
While  blue  and  purple  broidered  sheets 

Curve  out  from  masts  of  Lebanon. 

For  you  the  Persians  bend  the  bow, 
The  Gammadim  uplift  the  spear, 
The  helms  of  Lybia  sparkle  clear, 

The  shields  of  Lud  and  Arvad  glow. 

Your  markets  echo  back  the  fume 

Of  merchants  come  from  many  a  land 
Beyond  the  wilderness  of  sand, 

Beyond  the  wilderness  of  spume. 


1 82  PALESTINA. 

Your  stalls  abound  in  precious  wares: 
Judea's  olives,  balm  and  grain ; 
The  robes  that  Syrian  maidens  stain; 

The  gleaming  ore  that  Tarshish  bears ; 

The  wool  of  Kedar's  sable  tents ; 

Togarmah's  steeds  and  Javan's  swords ; 

The  bars  of  Ophir's  aureate  hoards ; 
The  spice  of  Sheba  and  the  scents. 

The  merchants  of  a  hundred  isles 
Have  made  you  perfect,  full  of  grace ; 
The  earth  is  dazed  before  your  face, 

The  sea  entangled  by  your  wiles. 

"But  you  shall  perish,"  saith  the  Lord ; 
"Your  glories  wither  like  to  flowers : — 
Behold  I  bring  against  your  towers 

The  King  of  Kings,  the  orient  horde. 

"The  king  of  Babylon  shall  raise 

His  mound  against  your  high  estate; 
His  cars  shall  clash  beneath  your  gate, 

His  horsemen  slay  along  your  ways. 

"The  isles  shall  tremble  at  your  fall, 
Your  sailors  stand  afar  and  cry, 
And  fishers  spread  their  nets  to  dry 

Where  beetled  once  your  lordly  wall." 


THE    STORY    OF    JERUSALEM.  183 

The  Burden  of  Babylon. 

A  noise  of  steeds  and  battle-cars! 

The  Lord  of  battles  calls  his  bands  ; 

They  come  from  far  and  foreign  lands, 
From  kingdoms  known  to  alien  stars. 

The  mountains  echo  back  the  tread 
And  shout  of  nations  drawing  nigh ; 
A  dust  of  peoples  palls  the  sky, 

As  though  the  sun  and  moon  were  dead. 

The  wicked  perish  in  their  wrong, 

The  arrogance  of  nobles  pales, 

The  valiant  utter  woman  wails, 
The  arrow  smiteth  through  the  strong. 

And  glorious,  queenly  Babylon, 

The  beauty  of  Chaldean  pride. 

Shall  be  as  when  Gomorrah  died 
By  Sodom's  side  in  ages  gone. 

While  God  remembereth  her  sin 

No  people  there  may  build  and  breed, 
Nor  Arab  tether  there  his  steed, 

Nor  shepherd  fold  his  flock  within ; 

But  all  the  desert  creatures  there 
Shall  habit ;   bodeful  monsters  call ; 
The  vulture  flap  from  hall  to  hall ; 

The  satyr  dance  in  temples  bare. 


184  PALESTINA. 

In  ruined  palaces  and  towers 

Shall  wail  the  daughters  of  the  owl, 
And  slimy  dragons  crawl  and  howl 

Where  lofty  gardens  hung  their  bowers. 

Her  doom  is  near.  O  judgment  day! 
O  day  of  vengeance,  when  the  Lord 
Shall  lift  the  bow  of  Media's  horde 

And  Marduk  fall  to  long  decay ! 


The  Feast  of  Bel. 

The  golden  king  Belshazzar 

Was  full  of  joy  and  boast 
Because  his  walls  and  warriors 

Withstood  the  Persian  host. 
"Behold,"  he  cried,  "my  people, 

Your  God  hath  served  you  well ; 
So  keep  ye  fair  and  debonair 

The  feast  of  Marduk  Bel." 

Then  all  the  Chaldees  triumphed 

With  pipe  and  dance  and  song; 
From  golden  wine  to  golden  shrine 

They  reeled  in  bacchant  throng; 
The  captains  o'er  the  turrets 

Were  daft  with  drink  and  mirth; 
The  warders  'neath  the  portals 

Lay  prone  along  the  earth. 


THE    STORY    OF    JERUSALEM.  1 85 

Belshazzar  also  reveled 

Within  his  marble  hall ; 
He  gathered  there  his  damozels, 

His  queen,  his  sons  and  all. 
A  hundred  score  of  nobles 

Caroused  before  his  face, 
While  dancers  wheeled  and  cornets  pealed 

And  incense  filled  the  place. 

And  when  his  heart  was  merry 

With  song  and  jest  and  tale, 
And  when  his  magians  anthemed 

"O  Lord  Merodach,  hail !" 
He  bade  to  bring  each  holy  thing 

That  Zion  used  of  old, 
The  candlesticks  and  vessels 

Of  argent,  bronze  and  gold. 

He  bade  to  fill  the  goblets 

In  honor  of  the  fanes 
Where  Babel's  myriads  worshipped 

And  Judah  served  in  chains. 
They  brought  the  sacred  beakers, 

They  brimmed  them  and  they  quaffed 
While  priest  and  knave  and  lord  and  slave 

Exalted  Bel  and  laughed. 

But  even  while  they  jested 

The  king  beheld  a  hand 
Against  the  stone  above  his  throne 

Where  ghost  alone  might  stand; — 


1 86  PALESTINA. 

A  hand !  no  other  presence ! 

An  awful  hand  !   alone ! 
That  scored  the  alabaster 

With  writing"  all  unknown. 

He  saw  it  bright  and  blinding, 

He  saw  the  fingers  gleam ; 
They  traced  their  mystic  message 

And  vanished  like  a  dream ; 
But  there,  distinct,  unfading, 

Remained  the  occult  words 
Above  the  king's  pavilion-rings, 

Where  none  might  reach  but  birds. 

Then  changed  Belshazzar's  visage ; 

It  shook  from  chin  to  hair. 
His  lips  were  dry  and  ashen, 

His  eyes  were  all  a-stare. 
And  like  to  him  his  nobles 

Uplifted  brows  of  gloom, 
For  well  they  spied  those  lines  abide, 

And  guessed  a  coming  doom. 

"Ye  priests,  ye  seers,  ye  sages !" 

The  monarch  shrieked  at  last ; 
"Ye  dolts  who  search  the  welkins, 

Why  sit  ye  there  aghast  ? 
Whatever  man  may  open 

This  secret  thing,  shall  hold 
The  third  high  place  of  royal  grace 

And  wear  the  chain  of  gold." 


THE    STORY    OF    JERUSALEM.  1 87 

Yet  none  divined  the  writing, 

They  stared  with  stifled  breath; 
And  there  was  such  a  silence 

As  chills  the  caves  of  death, 
Until  the  queen  stood  forward 

Where  crouched  the  king  in  fear, 
And  calmly  said,  "Be  comforted ! 

The  man  ye  need  is  here." 

"Hast  thou  forgotten  Daniel, 

The  seer  of  ancient  fame 
Who  sate  before  thy  father's  door 

And  sentenced  in  his  name? 
His  God  hath  made  him  cunning 

In  omen,  dream  and  sign; 
So  let  thy  heralds  call  him 

To  read  the  mystic  line." 

Thereon  the  holy  prophet 

Was  brought,  and  thus  the  king : 
"The  gods  are  with  thee,  Daniel, 

To  teach  thee  everything; 
They  give  thee  magian  wisdom 

To  render  dreams  and  seize 
The  hidden  light  of  second  sight 

And  show  the  dark  decrees. 

"And  now  behold  this  message 
Which  came,  I  know  not  whence. 

If  thou  hast  power  to  solve  it 
And  tell  its  fearful  sense, 


1 88  PALESTINA. 

Then  shalt  thou  wear  the  scarlet 
In  Marduk's  wide  domain 

And  ride  in  state  from  gate  to  gate 
And  bear  the  golden  chain." 

"O  king,"  replied  the  Hebrew, 

"To  others  be  thy  meed. 
Yet  will  I  read  the  riddle 

And  show  the  things  decreed. 
O  king !  the  king,  the  mighty  king, 

Thy  father,  ruled  the  earth 
Until  he  turned  from  Yahveh 

Who  gave  him  birth  and  worth. 

"Then  Yahveh  veiled  his  glory, 

And  drave  him  forth  from  men 
To  herd  with  humble  cattle 

And  share  their  food  and  pen, 
Until  he  knew  his  error 

In  lowliness  and  tears 
And  worshipped  One  who  rules  alone, 

Enthroned  upon  the  years. 

"But  thou  hast  scoffed  at  warning 

And  walked  in  f  roward  ways ; 
To  Him  who  gave  thee  empire 

Thou  hast  not  given  praise ; 
And  now,  behold,  thou  bringest 

The  spoils  of  Zion's  shrine 
To  pour  therein  for  Baals  of  sin 

Thine  offerings  of  wine. 


THE    STORY    OF    JERUSALEM.  189 

"Therefore  the  Lord  appointed 

This  hand  to  write  thy  fate ; 
The  words  are  words  of  number, 

Of  measure  and  of  weight. 
Thy  sceptred  years  are  counted, 

Thy  merit  strikes  the  beam, 
Thy  fair  domain  is  torn  in  twain, 

The  Persian  comes  supreme." 

Then  said  the  king,  "O  princes, 

This  Hebrew  bodeth  ill; 
But  lo,  my  word  is  given, 

And  kings  their  word  fulfill. 
Put  on  the  golden  girdle, 

Put  on  the  scarlet  gown. 
Proclaim  him  third  in  Babel's  herd 

And  lead  him  through  the  town." 

Now  if  he  spake  in  earnest. 

Or  wrath,  or  mirthful  scorn, 
What  man  could  tell  who  liveth, 

Or  ever  yet  was  born  ? 
For  even  while  he  mumbled 

The  bacchant  words  ye  know. 
He  slept  the  sleep  that  bibbers  keep, 

Nor  ever  babbled  moe. 

For  El  deboshed  our  tyrants, 

The  king  and  all  his  sons, 
The  princes,  lords  and  magians, 

The  chiefs,  the  mighty  ones ; 


I9O  PALESTINA. 

He  gave  them  wine  of  slumber 
That  they  might  drowse  and  die ; 

That  none  might  rise,  or  ope  his  eyes 
Till  shouting  death  were  nigh. 

No  warder  hears  a  larum, 

No  captain  lifts  his  head, 
The  while  a  Persian  army 

Descends  the  river  bed ; 
And  when  they  wake,  their  vision 

Is  dim  with  trickling  gore, 
And  through  the  maze  of  Babel's  ways 

Dart  foemen  smiting  sore. 

Hot  herald  runs  to  herald, 

Post  panteth  on  to  post, 
To  wake  the  fated  monarch 

Who  dreams  amid  his  host ; 
Through  many  streets  their  panic  fleets, 

Through  spacious  courts  they  wend 
To  tell  him  that  his  city 

Is  taken  at  one  end ; 

To  tell  him  that  his  warriors 

Are  palsied  with  affright, 
And  all  the  postern  outlets 

Are  stopped  against  his  flight ; 
To  bid  him  break  from  slumber 

And  rise  in  lion  mood 
To  crush  the  foe,  or  fighting  go 

To  death,  as  monarchs  should. 


THE    STORY    OF    JERUSALEM. 

But  vainly  rode  the  heralds ; 

The  chasers  followed  nigh, 
And  king  Belshazzar  started 

From  dreaming  but  to  die. 
Great  Babylon  was  hurtled 

Like  Lucifer  to  Hell ; 
Her  Xebo  bowed  in  ruin  loud 

Beside  her  fallen  Bel. 

The  spoilers  were  upon  her, 

They  breached  her  mountain  walls, 
They  brake  her  brazen  portals, 

They  burned  her  ivory  halls. 
In  vain  her  dwellers  labored 

To  quench  her  funeral  pyre ; 
Her  anguish  rose  in  tossing  throes 

Of  all-including  fire. 

A  scream  of  woman's  terror, 

A  howl  of  man's  despair, 
Fulfilled  the  golden  city 

From  blazing  square  to  square; 
The  slain  of  many  peoples 

Ensanguined  all  her  ways 
And  redly  dyed  her  arrowy  tide 

For  woful  days  and  days. 

Thus  God  repaid  to  Babel 
The  havoc  she  had  hurled 

Against  our  lovely  Zion, 
The  jewel  of  His  world; 


192  PALESTINA. 

And  ever  may  His  fury 

Remain  upon  the  spot 
Till  Babel's  might  is  wrapped  in  night, 

And  Babel's  name  forgot. 


Lucifer. 

How  hath  the  strong  oppressor  ceased 
Who  smote  the  lands  with  tireless  stroke ! 
Yea,  he  who  held  the  earth  in  yoke, 

The  golden  city  of  the  East. 

Hell  rose  to  meet  thy  coming  tread ; 

It  stirred  the  ghostly  ones  for  thee; 

They  scoffed,  Art  thou  become  as  we? 
Behold,  like  us  thou  liest  dead ! 

Thy  pomp  is  humbled  in  the  dust ; 

Thy  viols  hush  their  cheerful  noise ; 

The  worm  is  underneath  thy  joys 
And  overlays  thine  every  lust. 

O  Lucifer !     O  son  of  morn  ! 

How  art  thou  fallen  from  thy  state ! 

How  art  thou  vanquished,  desolate, 
Who  trode  the  sons  of  men  in  scorn ! 

For  God  remembereth  thy  boast : 
Thou  saidst,  "I  will  ascend  on  high, 
And  build  my  throne  amid  the  sky 

Above  Jehovah's  starry  host." 


THE    STORY    OF    JERUSALEM.  I 93 

Thy  purpose  was  to  overstride 

The  cloudy  heights  of  seraphim, 

And  reign  confederate  with  Him 
Whose  years  eternally  abide. 

But  thou  art  fallen  unto  night ; 

And  they  who  look  upon  thee  there 
Shall  scan  thee  with  a  narrow  stare. 

As  doubting  if  they  see  aright ; 

And  say,    "Is  this  the  mighty  one 
Who  rilled  the  nations  with  distress 
And  made  the  world  a  wilderness, 

Xor  ever  let  the  captive  run?" 

Lo,  many  kings  of  many  lands 
Sleep  grandiose  in  royal  tombs, 
Xor  know  amid  their  tranquil  glooms 

The  cruel  scorn  of  spoiling  hands. 

But  thou  art  cast  apart  like  those 
Who  lie  unburied  on  the  field 
Where  all  their  might  and  valor  reeled 

To  death  amid  triumphant  foes. 


Appeal 

Oh  that  Thou  mightest  rend  the  skies, 
Yea,  part  the  welkin  and  descend, 
While  all  the  mountain  summits  bend 

And  melt  before  Thine  awful  eves ! 


1 94  PALESTINA. 

Behold,  we  are  unclean  within, 

Our  righteous  deeds  are  rags  and  grime ; 

And  like  the  leaves  of  winter  time 
We  drive  before  the  storms  of  sin. 

Yea,  none  invokes  Thy  mighty  name, 
Or  riseth  up  to  crave  thy  grace ; 
And  thou  hast  turned  away  thy  face, 

Or  answered  with  consuming  flame. 

Yet  Thou  art  father  of  us  all, 

And  rulest  man  with  perfect  sway ; 
Thou  art  the  maker,  we  the  clay, 

And  thou  canst  bid  us  stand  or  fall. 

Remember  not  our  deeds  of  ill, 

And  be  not  angry  very  sore; 

Though  justice  slay  us  evermore, 
Behold,  we  are  Thy  children  still. 

Our  hallowed  city  is  destroyed, 
Our  fathers'  land  a  desert  land; 
Yea,  Zion's  broken  turrets  stand 

In  regions  desolate  and  void. 

Our  beautiful  and  holy  fane, 

Where  Judah  worshipped  thee  of  old, 
We  saw  its  golden  cloisters  rolled 

In  flamings,  while  we  wept  in  vain. 

Wilt  Thou  forget  our  many  tears  ? 

Wilt  Thou  forego  Thy  chastenings? 

Return,  O  Lord,  on  mercy's  wings, 
And  bring  again  the  gracious  years ! 


THE    STORY    OF    JERUSALEM.  IQ5 

Hope  in  Sorrow. 

Behold  me,  the  man  who  hath  known 

Affliction  and  scorning; 
I  wander  in  darkness  alone 

And  find  not  the  morning. 


The  hand  of  Jehovah  is  turned 

Against  me  forever ; 
He  heareth  me  not,  he  hath  spurned 

My  prayer  and  endeavor. 

And  yet  His  compassions  are  sure 

And  new  every  morrow  ; 
Or  how  should  we  ever  endure 

The  arrows  of  sorrow? 

Oh,  well  for  a  man  that  he  grieve 

While  yet  he  is  youthful ; 
Yea,  well  that  he  calmly  believe 

In  Him  who  is  ruth f til. 

He  sitteth  in  silence  profound, 
Rememb'ring  his  punishment ; 

He  boweth  his  mouth  to  the  ground, 
Accepting  admonishment. 

He  giveth  his  cheek  unto  him 

Who  executes  sentence ; 
His  spirit  is  filled  to  the  brim 

With  trustful  repentance. 


PALESTINA. 

For  God  will  redeem  us  at  last, 
Though  sorely  He  chasten ; 

His  anger  will  quickly  be  past, 
His  mercies  will  hasten. 

He  hates  not  the  children  of  dust, 
To  cause  them  to  perish ; 

And  though  his  resentment  be  just, 
He  yearneth  to  cherish. 


The  Promise. 

0  elders  of  a  wicked  land, 

0  people  born  in  evil  coasts, 

1  weary,  saith  the  Lord  of  Hosts, 
Of  incense  waved  by  sinner's  hand. 

1  weary  of  the  blood  of  beasts, 

The  blackened  altars  crowned  with  flame, 
The  loud  hosannas  to  my  name, 
The  sabbaths,  moons  and  stated  feasts. 

Your  lifted  hands  I  hold  abhorred, 
So  full  are  they  of  blood  and  snares ; 
Yea,  when  ye  make  your  many  prayers, 

I  will  not  hear  them,  saith  the  Lord. 

Behold,  your  land  is  desolate, 

Your  cities  crumbled,  wall  and  tower ; 
The  stranger  sits  within  your  bower 

And  eats  the  fruit  your  fathers  ate. 


THE    STORY    OF    JERUSALEM. 

Go  wash  you :   make  you  white  as  snow ; 

Forsake  your  refuges  of  lies ; 

Deal  justly;  hear  the  widow's  cries; 
Console  the  orphan  in  his  woe. 

Repent ;   tread  softly  :   walk  in  fears ; 

Pray  meekly  in  your  secret  place; 

Seek  naught  beside  your  Maker's  grace ; 
And  seek  that  carefully  with  tears. 

So  shall  your  princes  rule  anew, 
Your  counsellors  arise  from  death ; 
I  promise  it,  Jehovah  saith, 

And  all  my  promises  are  true. 


The  Re-1'i-i'aL 

The  Mighty  One  put  forth  his  hand 
And  bore  me  to  the  vale  of  bones, 
Uncountable  as  mountain  stones 

And  dry  as  burning  desert  sand. 

"O  son  of  man,"  he  said  to  me, 
"Can  these  be  ever  made  to  rise 
Anew  in  gracious  human  guise  ?"— 

I  answered,  "It  is  known  to  thee." 

Then  bade  He,    ''Prophesy  and  say, 
Arise,  O  skeletons,  and  live; 
And  I,  the  Maker,  I  will  give 

Again  the  life  I  took  away." 


198  PALESTINA. 

According  to  His  word  I  cried, 
Whereon  a  shaking  filled  the  vale, 
A  tremor  dry  as  rattling  hail, 

While  murmurs  ran  from  side  to  side. 

From  side  to  side  the  murmurs  ran, 
And  lo,  the  bones  together  drew, 
Together  closed,  together  grew, 

Till  every  heap  became  a  man. 

Yea,  warriors  lay  in  thousands  there, 
As  warriors  lie  along  the  field, 
The  stiffened  arm  within  the  shield, 

The  visage  white,  the  eyes  a-stare. 

Then  said  He,    "Prophesy  again; 

Uplift  the  hand  and  prophesy; 

Command  the  winds  of  every  sky 
To  breathe  upon  these  many  slain." 

Thereon  I  summoned,  "Come,  O  breath  ! 

From  all  the  sides  of  heaven,  come! 

Inspire  the  armies  of  the  dumb ! 
Arouse  the  companies  of  death !" 

They  stirred ;  they  lifted  up  the  head ; 

In  awful  lines  of  war  they  stood, 

A  mighty,  living  multitude 
Who  knew  not  they  were  ever  dead. 

Then  said  He:   "Thus  will  I  revive 
The  vanished  ones  of  Israel ; 
Yea,  I  will  gather  them  from  Hell 

And  make  their  very  slain  alive." 


THE    STORY    OF    JERUSALEM.  I 99 

The  Return. 

Thus  saith  the  Gracious  One:    Behold, 

I  bring  again  my  chosen  race 

To  find  the  father's  dwelling  place 
And  rest  within  the  ancient  fold. 

I  gather  them  from  every  land, 

The  hoary  sire,  the  valiant  one, 

The  mother  and  her  little  son, 
The  lame,  the  blind,  a  mingled  band. 

With  supplications,  moans  and  tears, 
A  hallowed,  meek  array,  they  come : 
And  I  will  lead  them  to  their  home 

In  ways  devoid  of  snares  and  fears. 

My  holy  city  shall  arise 

Upon  the  remnant  of  her  wall, 

And  every  turret,  gate  and  hall 
Exult  anew  where  ruin  lies. 

Thanksgiving,  praise  and  holy  song 

Will  echo  there ;    the  dulcimer 

And  tabret  set  the  heart  astir ; 
The  dancers  wheel  in  happy  throng. 

Her  multitude  will  live  anew. 

Her  kings  revive  the  perfect  days, 
Her  temple  ring  again  with  praise, 

Because  my  promises  are  true. 


200  PALESTINA. 

Reestablishment. 

Thus  saith  the  Lord  of  mercies :  Lo, 
I  bring  again  the  captive  host 
Of  Judah  from  the  heathen  coast 

To  build  anew  the  long-ago. 

I  wash  away  their  many  sins, 
I  pardon  every  evil  thought, 
Although  against  my  law  they  wrought 

And  pierced  my  love  with  keen  chagrins. 

The  many  tribes  of  earth  shall  fear 
Because  I  lift  my  children  up, 
Because  I  fill  their  humble  cup 

So  full  of  comforting  and  cheer. 

Again,  yet  once  again,  this  land 
Of  sunny  mountain,  fruitful  vale, 
Refreshed  by  humid  western  gale, 

Yet  barren  now  as  desert  sand ; 

This  ravined  land,  devoid  of  life, 
Will  see  the  shepherd  fold  his  sheep 
And  number  them  in  holy  sleep, 

Secure  from  bloody  sons  of  strife. 

Again,  yet  once  again,  this  place, 

This  Zion,  stripped  of  man  and  brute, 
These  dwellings  desolate  and  mute 

This  temple  smitten  to  its  base, 

Shall  hear  the  bridegroom  and  the  bride 
The  gladsome  noise  of  dance  and  game, 
The  psalm  of  those  who  praise  my  name, 

Because  my  promises  abide. 


THE   NEW  GLORY 


THE  NEW  GLORY. 

The  Man  of  Sorrows. 

He  hath  no  form  nor  comeliness 
Nor  beauty  in  our  sinful  eyes ; 
We  look  upon  him  and  despise 

A  visage  marred  by  long  distress. 

A  man  of  sorrows,  known  to  grief, 
We  would  not  take  him  into  grace ; 
We  hid  our  faces  from  his  face, 

And  when  he  pleaded  we  were  deaf. 

We  thought  him  stricken  of  the  Lord ; 

We  judged  him  wrorthy  taunt  and  blow ; 

Yet  surely  he  had  borne  our  woe 
And  been  because  of  us  abhorred. 

For  our  transgression  was  He  slain, 
And  bruised  for  our  iniquity ; 
Because  of  Him  we  do  not  die, 

Nor  suffer  any  stripe  of  pain. 

Like  foolish  sheep  we  went  astray, 

We  wandered  each  his  wayward  path; 
But  He  alone  endured  the  wrath 

Of  Him  who  hates  the  sinner's  wav. 


2O4  PALESTINA. 

Afflicted,  smitten,  bleeding,  torn, 
He  opened  not  his  mouth  to  weep, 
But  patient  suffered  like  the  sheep 

Who  moaneth  not  when  he  is  shorn. 

Because  He  gave  his  soul  to  death, 
Because  he  bare  the  sins  of  earth, 
The  world  at  last  shall  know  his  worth 

And  praise  Him  to  its  latest  breath. 


The  Fathers. 

The  time  would  fail  to  tell  of  those 

Who  wrought  the  wondrous  deeds  of  faith ; 
Who  kept  their  crowns  despite  of  skaith, 

And  ran  their  course  through  many  woes ; 

Who  quenched  the  violence  of  fire, 

And  'scaped  the  sharpness  of  the  sword ; 
Who  turned  to  flight  the  alien  horde, 

And  quelled  the  lion  in  his  ire; 

Of  mothers  who  received  their  dead, 
Through  fervent  prayer,  to  life  again ; 
Of  men  who  suffered  mortal  pain, 

Nor  ever  for  deliverance  plead; 

Or  those  who  fronted  scourge  and  scorn 
And  biting  bonds  without  regret, 
Because  their  holy  thoughts  were  set 

Upon  the  resurrection  morn ; 


THE    NEW    GLORY.  2O- 

While  others,  hunted,  destitute, 
Sought  refuges  in  mountain  caves, 
Or  found  their  nameless,  noble  graves 

Among  the  coverts  of  the  brute ; 

Unspotted  souls  of  whom  the  earth 
Was  undeserving,  though  they  strove 
To  lift  it  on  their  mighty  love 

And  give  its  dust  some  little  worth. 

All  these,  whose  gracious  names  endure, 
Saw  not  the  Christ  that  we  have  seen, 
But  kept  their  hallowed  hope  serene 

Because  they  held  the  promise  sure. 


The  Heralds. 

I  saw  the  seraph  seven  who  stand 
Before  the  awful  throne  of  light, 
Each  one  arrayed  in  blinding  white, 

Each  one  a  trumpet  in  the  hand. 

An  eighth  beside  the  altar  came 
And  waved  a  golden  censer  high. 
Whose  incense  sweetened  all  the  sky, 

As  though  the  sun  were  fragrant  flame. 

Therewith  he  offered  up  the  prayers 

Of  that  innumerable  throng 

Who  fought  against  the  sires  of  wrong 
And  quelled  the  princes  of  the  airs. 


2O6  PALESTINA. 

Next,  taking  from  the  altar  hearth 

A  censer  full  of  ruddy  fire, 

He  lifted  it  in  holy  ire 
And  cast  it  o'er  the  trembling  earth. 

Then  lightnings  every  whither  went, 
Incessant  thunderings  were  hurled, 
And  earthquakes  tottered  round  the  world, 

While  answered  voices  of  lament. 

Thereon  the  herald  seven  arose 

And  blew  their  trumpets  one  by  one, 
Fulfilling  earth  and  moon  and  sun 

With  desolations,  dooms  and  woes ; 

Till  presently,  on  sea  and  shore, 
Another  angel  stood  alone, 
Who  pointed  to  the  judgment  throne 

And  swore  that  time  should  be  no  more. 


The  Golden  City. 

The  elder  firmament  and  earth 
Had  passed  away  in  awful  flame ; 
Thereon  another  welkin  came, 

Another  world  received  its  birth. 

Then,  looking  up,  I  saw  descend 
The  Golden  City,  strong  and  high, 
Yet  clear  as  crystal  to  the  eye, 

Transparent  gold  from  end  to  end. 


THE    NEW    GLORY.  2O/ 

Its  walls  were  jasper,  standing  on 
A  plinth  of  onyx,  chrysolite, 
Of  jacinth,  beryl,  sapphire  bright, 

Sard,  amethyst  and  chalcedon. 

From  pearly  portals  argentine 
Immeasurable  streets  unrolled, 
With  pavements  wrought  of  solid  gold, 

Yet  amber-clear  like  golden  wine. 

Xo  temple  was  there  in  the  place, 

No  heavenly  luminary  shone: 

The  fane  thereof  is  God  alone, 
The  sun  thereof,  Jehovah's  face. 

Then,  far  above  all  mortal  ken, 
I  heard  a  mighty  voice  proclaim : 
''Forever  holy  be  His  name! 

God  cometh  down  to  dwell  with  men. 

"He  comes  to  wipe  away  their  tears, 

To  give  the  stricken  ones  relief ; 

Yea,  death  shall  be  no  more,  nor  grief, 
Nor  any  mourning,  pain,  or  fears." 

Then  God  upon  His  throne  replied : 

"Behold  I  make  creation  new! 

These  promises  are  faithful  true; 
So  write,  and  let  my  words  abide !" 


2O8  PALESTINA. 

The   White  Robed. 

I  saw  in  wonder-dreams  of  slumber 
A  mighty,  mingled  multitude 
Of  every  region,  tongue  and  brood, 

Too  infinite  for  man  to  number. 

With  waving  palms,  arrayed  in  brightness, 
And  sounding  golden  harps,  they  choired 
Round  One,  in  jasper  bloom  attired, 

Who  sate  a  throne  of  blinding  whiteness. 

Then  spake  an  elder  clothed  in  glory : 

"What  men  are  these  in  robes  of  snow?" 
I  answered :   "How  may  sinner  know  ? 

Thou  knowest,  Lord,  their  hallowed  story." 

He  said :   "Behold  the  sons  of  noyance 
Who  kept  the  faith  in  weary  stress, 
Nor  ever  trusted  God  the  less 

Because  they  found  no  earthly  joyance; 

"Wherefore  the  gracious  One,  the  tender 
Redeemer,  wiped  away  their  tears, 
And  lifted  them  to  astral  spheres 

To  share  His  perfect  love  and  splendor." 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
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